


Fools on Jazz

by comebackjessica



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie Solomons Being Soft, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, F/F, F/M, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, London, M/M, Mastervillain Tommy Shelby, Mental Health Issues, Musician Alfie, References to Addiction, Roommates, Seriously Guys He Is Evil In This One, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Women Kick Ass In This One, idiots to lovers, oh my god they were roommates, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: Being the unreliable narrator of her own story was not something Romy had planned for. Granted, she also never thought that she’d befriend Ada Shelby, earn herself a favor from Polly Gray, and sometime later slowly fall for the weirdest man in London.
Relationships: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. The New Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post it whole but I've been struggling with motivation lately so someone better tell me it's good! Also, don't worry. Most of this is already written and it will be finished sooner or later, but as you can probably already see — it's massive. Like seriously, I have it written up to chapter 5 now and it's 106 pages. But I love this story so, so much and... well, I hope you'll love it too! It's time to share it with the world!
> 
> Also, you might treat my previous one-shot as a [prequel!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656131)

The building was easy enough to find, but Romy still took a taxi. Having to pack up her entire life for the second time this year was exhausting enough — she didn’t have to add the underground trip with two suitcases and a cardboard box to the equation. 

The landlady was not present for the key exchange, which Romy didn’t much care about anyway. She was aware that the room was so cheap because she would share the place with two other roommates. One of them, the woman, would have the keys. 

At this point in her life, Romy’s living arrangements have mostly been hit and miss. Not only because of the roommates; sometimes the people were fantastic and then what drove her insane were the apartments or the houses crumbling to pieces and being poorly managed. This time, however, she had to leave her last apartment in a hurry and there was a large chunk of embarrassing drama involved in that story. That’s why she had one and one wish only for the new people: please, may they just be fucking _nice_.

The door to the building had a broken lock. Well, that’s not a great start but at least everything looked relatively clean on the inside. Romy managed to get everything upstairs, in two trips, but before she had the chance to ring the doorbell, the door to number 16F burst open. In it stood a pretty brunette with kind eyes and a smile that made the new tenant dare to be hopeful her roommate would be a nice person after all.

“Goodness, you should’ve called me!” The woman grabbed one of the suitcases and helped get the luggage inside before the other woman could even open her mouth. “I thought it was you! I mean, I heard some noises so it was either you or Alfie coming back home all beaten up again. You know, the last time he had been in a fight, he sounded not that different from you dragging all that shit upstairs, I had to help him get all that blood off his clothes after, Jesus, men are honestly such morons, no wonder they get caught all the time as far as serial killers go, we’re just smarter…”

She talked the whole way, effortlessly carrying the luggage and taking it through the corridor to where Romy imagined must be her room. 

“You, uh… You’re very strong.”

“Crossfit,” she said then, smiling at Romy behind her shoulder. A little perplexed, Romy stayed quiet with her cardboard box and closed the front door behind her with a light kick.

What. The. Fuck.

She followed the woman, though, what could she do? The weirdo had her stuff now. She could theoretically run away still but… where would she go? _Maybe she just listens to a lot of true crime podcasts and has lost it at some point,_ Romy thought.

“Okay. Shall we grab the rest, then?” The brunette put the suitcases in front of the room and smiled at the new girl again. It wasn’t a malicious sort of smile; it was kind. That still left some hope. 

“This is it,” the new tenant said, trying not to sound too embarrassed. On the other hand, what the hell was that entire monologue? Either the other woman had no filter or this was all just a colossal mistake.

“Oh, well… It is? Ah, minimalism. I like it!”

Alright, this could work, Romy decided. She seemed perfectly nice, if a little weird. Maybe she was just naturally oversharing while Romy remained closed up like a clam.

Then, that just left the matter of the other roommate — who apparently had a temper problem? Oh, what the fuck was this place, even. _Honestly_ , that little story about the stairs… The bad feeling was back. Were they just a pair of psychopaths?

Romy knew, however, that she was prone to anxiety so for now she decided to let him introduce himself on his own, once they’d meet in person. If she did run into a pair of psychos (again), Romy decided to look into her lease and run as far away as possible. This time there would be no wasting her efforts on second chances and whatnot. She had learned her lesson.

“Listen, oh… wait.” The roommate giggled and outstretched her hand. “Ada. Ada Shelby. It’s nice to meet you, let me tell you, after what we’ve been through with the last one… it’s good to have you, is what I mean, oh my God, Ada, stop talking now.” She giggled again and that made Romy smile a little. Alright, maybe just an oversharer, then. It seemed like there was no distance between Ada and other people and so the new girl decided perhaps they were just opposing personalities and that was that.

“Romy Bayko,” the new girl said then, suddenly professional like in a business meeting. Ada noticed and Romy honestly hoped she wouldn’t think she was standoffish; she was just so goddamn tired. They shook hands. Ada had a nice, tight grip.

“Romy, like the actress?” Ada asked.

“Oh, no... I mean, yes, like the actress,” Romy tried to smile but all she managed was a weird grimace.

“You must be tired, huh?” Ada looked at the new roommate curiously after a moment of silence. _Ah, fuck._ So it showed then, Romy thought. “Feel free to take a nap, but if you don’t have stuff to do, I’m gonna make some tea. Kitchen’s that way,” Ada pointed towards the other end of the corridor.

“Okay,” Romy replied, feeling like an utter barbarian. But Ada was right, she was very tired. Not physically, though, so Romy knew that a nap wouldn’t help in the slightest. Her sleep cycle for the past few weeks stopped being a cycle entirely, and was now resembling a circus.

Ada turned around and walked towards the kitchen. Okay. Maybe not a psychopath, after all. Or maybe just a really friendly one, Romy mused. She already knew she wanted to follow Ada for some reason and ignore the luggage entirely, but finally decided to at least partially unpack first. 

The room was nice and had a good lock on the inside. It looked bigger than in the pictures, too, which for that price, was a very welcome surprise. The entire apartment was huge, actually, at least for London rental standards. Romy kind of wondered how come the landlady made it work with just three people. Perhaps she was a decent person? 

She snorted at herself. _Ah, for sure._

Granted, Polly Gray sounded nice enough on the phone but Romy has had mixed experiences with landlords before. Now, as for the unpacking… The first order of business would be finding a nice spot for the plants. 

Romy only had two because her living never allowed for more. The longest she has ever rented a room was two years. There was no sense of permanence or security for her even to be able to take care of her dog, Marlowe, anymore. He lived with her mother in Luton now; an arrangement that Romy kept telling herself was only temporary. She tried to visit as often as possible, which only became more difficult with time as her job grew more demanding and her personal life more unstable.

Romy’s heart broke when she had to leave the dog with her but ultimately, she knew that her mom would take care of Marlowe better than Romy could at the time. Marlowe was a rescue from illegal dog den fights and he needed as much stability as possible. For now, living in Luton was the better option for him.

This whole adoption started, as most crazy things in Romy’s life did, with her friend Linda. She was the one who told Romy about Marlowe because she had been volunteering at the animal shelter at the time and Marlowe was one of the difficult cases. If no one adopted him then, he would have been put to sleep. Having heard the story, Romy remembered basically putting on her coat and the shoes while still on the phone with Linda. She felt like she was destined to become this pupper’s mother.

Unfortunately, Romy’s old roommates were one of the prejudiced kinds and complained to the landlord. The reason for that was Marlowe was a pitbull, at least that’s what they had determined at the shelter. Who knew really with the kind of people that arranged these dog fights —he might just have looked the part. Nevertheless, the roommates and the landlord made Romy give him up. She moved out of that place shortly after and so here she fucking was. For now, she didn’t dare to ask the new landlady for her permission to bring Marlowe back to live with her. She had to be strategic about it this time; she needed a place to live after all.

After placing the plants on the windowsill, Romy already felt the familiar grogginess surround her. Alright, that would be unpacking enough, she decided, so she just threw her coat on the bed and took off her shoes. She decided to join Ada in the kitchen, eager to know her a bit better; if she was going to stay here, Romy had to figure Ada out at least to some extent.

When Romy entered the kitchen, Ada was already sipping her tea from a large mug that had a Gryffindor crest on it. _Oh yes,_ Romy thought. Liking Harry Potter was definitely a good sign.

“Hey, there is still a lot left in the pot,” Ada smiled and then gestured towards the large blue teapot on the counter. 

Romy noticed the kitchen was not exactly as clean as she would like it to be but then again, she really had way too high standards when it came to cleanliness. She decided to ignore it for now and opened the first cupboard, in search of cups. There were a lot of blenders and other kitchen appliances in that one, which was a nice surprise. She guessed someone here really liked to cook. _Unless they also liked to cook people…_

She closed that one and opened the next. Ada pretended to be busy with her magazine and let the new girl explore her surroundings in peace. Romy finally found the right cupboard and took out the mug that looked the least personal; she didn’t want to accidentally use someone’s favorite.

“Oh, that’s… uh, I guess he wouldn’t mind,” Romy heard Ada behind her as she already poured the tea half way. She turned around then, mug in her hand, face guilty as all hell.

Noticing the other woman’s expression, Ada shook her head quickly. “No, no, no,” she said. “It’s alright. Take any one you want, really. Just be careful with this one, okay? It’s Alfie’s, he got it from an old friend who’s like dead or moved away or something, I don’t know, but he really loves that ugly thing.”

Romy looked at the mug now with an entirely different mindset. The thing that had seemed so ordinary just mere seconds before — red and simple, the generic shape, and with no words or logos on it. _Jesus_. Now, absolutely panicked that she would break it for the psycho that liked to fight people, she quickly poured the tea into an IKEA glass and carefully washed the mug in the sink. She put it aside to dry and sat next to Ada on the nearest wooden chair.

Romy noticed she was watching her now, but this time Ada’s face was unreadable and the blue eyes distant.

“So,” Romy said after a good minute of curious silence. “How long have you been living here together?”

“Oh, about five years, yeah,” Ada nodded and flashed Romy another smile that comforted her immediately. “And we’re not, like… together-together with Alfie,” she smiled into her tea. “Just friends.”

“Oh, sure.” Romy nodded. “I didn’t assume, I was just… Wow, five years? It’s good to know.” She took a sip of her tea and smiled to herself. “Oh, that’s really good tea. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ada leaned back in her seat and sighed contentedly. “So, where did you live before?”

“Uh, close to Camden with my friends.” _A lie._ Turns out, they weren’t her friends after all but Romy decided to skip that bit. “I loved that place but it got too expensive.” _More lies._ “And then there was some really shitty drama.” Well, that one was true. “But I guess it’s always like that with people.” 

“Yeah, I mean, I was kind of lucky, I guess? Since this is my aunt’s apartment and she lets us pretty much do whatever the hell we want.”

_Ah_ , Romy noted. Perhaps this is why Ada had no filter. She could basically be herself to anyone she wanted, since there was no way for her to get kicked out. Romy wasn't entirely sure now this was such a great idea, but fine. Let’s just drink the damn tea.

“You’re lucky,” Romy said, trying to make conversation. “This is a very cool place. The only property my family owns is this ancient house near Luton, which... I guess as far as real estate goes, it still basically makes me a royal?” She smirked and Ada laughed at the joke softly. “But uh, I need the city. Luton is entirely too small for me.”

“Oh my God, that is so true! We’re privileged little bitches, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah.” Romy liked that remark; she had to admit Ada’s forwardness made her easy to talk to. Romy raised her glass to Ada. “To privileged bitches.”

“To privileged bitches!” Ada exclaimed and gently clinked her mug with Romy’s glass. 

Romy wanted to ask her something else but that’s when she heard the front door open and close. That must have been Alfie then. Romy was kind of curious now. She was especially curious if a moment would come for her to chuck the glass at him and make a run for it. Who knew, after all — the man supposedly had a temper.

“Be nice,” Romy heard Ada say but then she saw that her new roommate wasn’t looking at her when she said it — she must have been talking to Alfie, then.

Oh, _fuck_. That can’t be good, Romy decided… She turned around just as the man entered the kitchen. The first thing she noticed was the beard and then the old military-style jacket; it looked comfortable and frequently worn. She also realized Alfie had groceries with him, which… Alright, not entirely a threatening thing to have. When Romy glanced towards the shopping bags he was holding, she also saw the curious crown tattoos on both his hands. They didn’t look professionally made; she knew because she had a couple herself. 

_Was he a fucking gangster or something?_

“Hi,” Alfie gave her a small smile and put down the bags to shake her hand. “Alfie.”

“Romy,” she shook his hand, face back to serious and business-like.

She retracted her hand but not too fast, careful to make a good and normal first impression. She definitely didn’t want him to use these hands against her, no sir. She noticed immediately that she wouldn’t be able to fight him, not in a million years.

Alfie was not that tall, although taller than her since she was practically a hobbit. He seemed _large,_ though, broad-shouldered and muscular in a could-beat-you-up-in-two-seconds kind of way. Romy decided to be watchful. She’d had bad experiences with men before and wanted to make sure he would be all right as a roommate. So far, it was fifty-fifty.

“You’re the new girl, right?” Alfie asked her casually and put his jacket on the nearby chair, then he turned around to take care of the groceries. Romy noticed a faint smell that came from the jacket and it kind of reminded her of an Italian restaurant. 

“Nah, she’s from the Health Department, Alf,” Ada chuckled. “Came over to write your room off as a fire hazard.”

“Ha-ha,” Alfie said. Romy watched him in silence as he unpacked the groceries. There were a lot of different things, and nearly none of them the ready-to-eat stuff she was used to relying on more than she should have. These were genuine products; vegetables, dairy, pasta, rice...

“Are you a chef?” she asked before she could stop herself. It all piqued her interest, she couldn’t help it. She already had an idea of what sort of person Ada might be; now she wanted to assess Alfie’s character, too. _Or, you know._ Chuck a glass at him and make a run for it. Either one. 

“Yeah, I am,” he smiled to himself and then went to the sink to wash his hands. Romy realized then that he was looking at his mug as he did that.

“I’m sorry,” she offered immediately. “I didn’t know it was your mug, we were having tea—”

“Calm down,” he smiled at her and the way he said it honestly sounded soft enough to make her pause. He dried his hands, then the mug, and set it on the counter next to the teapot.

Romy went back to drinking her tea. She looked back at Ada and noticed she was watching them both now, again with that unreadable expression.

“What do you do, Romy?” Ada asked then, in a perfectly neutral way.

“Oh, a shitty job, honestly,” she huffed. “It’s corporate HR, nothing fancy. It’s good money but I want to kill myself every single day.”

Ada chuckled at that and Romy realized what she had just said. _Okay._ People slip up, evidently. Perhaps she judged them both too quickly as well.

“I know what you mean,” Ada said. “I used to work for companies like that, before my brother really started the business and—”

“Ah, yes, your glorious brother, the mad bastard. How is he? Missin’ me terribly?” Alfie teased then and sat down at the chair beside Romy, his mug in hands. 

Ada chuckled at that and Romy realized she wasn't in on the joke. She paid it no mind, though, she was busy looking at the crown tattoos again. They intrigued her the most.

“Got those in prison,” Alfie said then and she glanced at him quickly, having been caught staring. He didn’t seem too bothered, though. He was still smiling and she didn’t notice anything unkind in the way he looked at her now.

“Oh,” she said, careful to make her voice completely indifferent. _Fuck. So there it was._ She sipped her tea, though, and nodded but this is when she felt Ada kick Alfie under the table. He barked out a throaty laugh and returned the favor, although with much less force.

“A mate did them, yeah,” he said, looking back at Romy, obviously very pleased with himself for having tricked her. She chuckled at that nervously and shrugged. 

“Dude, I literally have David Bowie’s face on my entire side, I would never judge you,” she said, deciding to share a little bit. _And another lie, too._ All she’s been doing for the past half an hour was judge them.

“Oh, really?” Alfie asked, arching a brow. 

“Are you a fan, then?” Ada asked. Romy looked at her and nodded.

“Huge, yeah,” she admitted. “His music literally changed my life.”

“Our Alfie’s a musician,” Ada remarked, nodding towards the guy with a sly smirk. 

“Oh, fuck off, I’m not,” Alfie grumbled. 

A musician? That might redeem the crazy a little bit. Romy had her own artistic hobby and knew very well these sort of things required certain sensitivity.

“Oh, yes you are!” Ada protested and took out her phone, looking for something in her gallery. “Here, Romy, look.”

“Ada,” Alfie barked now, still friendly but with a hint of a warning thrown in. She ignored that, but the new girl didn’t. Ada showed her the phone. It was a short YouTube clip of a jazz band concert. Romy noticed Alfie there on stage, a bit to the side. He played the trumpet and did so exceptionally well.

_Okay_. A crazy artist was definitely better than a gangster fellon.

“Oh, wow,” Romy took the phone to take a better look. She glanced at him and noticed how embarrassed he was. “You’re excellent,” she said kindly, in an attempt to comfort the guy a little bit. She didn’t know why she did that, exactly. 

After all, she wasn't an expert on jazz but her mother was. She listened to Brubeck and Charlie Haden all the time, so Romy could kind of spot the good stuff when she heard it. And Alfie was good.

He grumbled something under his breath and she realized it must have been in another language because she could understand exactly nothing from that. _Curious_. He seemed somewhat sweet now, just like Ada. Perhaps she’d misjudged number 16F entirely. She pressed the lock button on Ada’s iPhone before the song was over, so as not to torture the guy any longer. 

“I paint,” Romy offered, deciding what’s fair was fair, she had to give up something now.

“Your two entire suitcases are art supplies, then?” Ada asked, smiling brightly. Romy huffed at that soft jab and shook her head with a smile.

“Digital art. Photoshop and an iPad,” she explained. 

“Oh, do you have any on insta?” Ada immediately took out her phone again and showed her profile. “Add me, I want to see!” 

Romy noticed immediately that Ada took nice photos and kept her feed seamless with the same filter. It was custom presets, though, for sure. None of that generic shit. Okay, she had taste. Another good sign.

“One sec,” Romy took out her phone and then was a bit surprised when Alfie leaned in a bit to glance at her insta. He smiled when he saw a large digital painting of Bowie on the main feed. 

“That’s cool,” he said.

“Thank you!” Any nice comment about her art made Romy unnecessarily elated, she realized that, but couldn’t help it. 

Her art was something personal and she included a piece of herself in every single artwork. Romy added Ada and she followed back. Romy didn’t ask for Alfie’s socials, though, deciding this whole exchange was already friendly enough. She didn’t want to seem weird.

“I noticed you have a landline,” she said, changing the subject a little bit. “Does it work or is it like a retro vibe or something?”

Ada snorted at that and pointed at Alfie. “An antique, just like this one. This fucking guy cannot use a smartphone for the life of him!”

_Ah._ No socials, then. No trace. No possibility to check him even a little bit. _Gangster, for sure._ A chef by day, a trumpet murderer by night.

“I’m old, fuck off,” Alfie groaned and stood up to pour more tea. He re-filled all three cups. Nice gesture, Romy supposed. He didn’t look _that old,_ though. Couldn’t have been much older than her. 

Then again, could’ve been younger and lying, too. As an expert in that department, she decided to keep an eye on him.

“It’s okay, we could like… chip in to buy you one of these old people phones, with the big buttons,” Romy smirked at him a bit. She decided to test that temper.

Ada guffawed at the remark but Alfie shot Romy a _look._ She winced a bit and he must have noticed, because he smiled at her again. It was a nice smile, too, she noticed. It reached his eyes, at least.

“Oh, very funny, yeah,” he said, though now he kept his distance. _Why?_ Romy wondered. Did she make him angry? 

“I’ll get ya for that, you’ll see.”

_Shit._ What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“Give us your best, grandpa,” she leaned back in her seat. She was still pushing, trying to see if he would attack her. No point in moving in with another unstable man; Alfie looked scary enough, she really didn’t need him to _actually_ be scary.

“Nah, I’ll be nice,” He didn’t sit back down; he leaned back on the counter and watched her, scratching his beard. She noticed a long patch missing on the right side and wondered if it was a scar. “Otherwise our Ada here’ll have my balls, mate.”

Romy snorted at that and realized that she could give them an honest chance. At least, she really wanted to. At the end of the day, they both had a cool sense of humor. If they murder her, they might be entertaining about it.

* * *

Monday hit Romy like a ton of bricks. As she turned on her work laptop, she felt anxiety and dread so intense that she nearly keeled over. She sighed and then nodded to herself as she pressed the login button on her desktop and tried to be brave.

Romy liked the fact that she worked for a foreign company and so she didn’t really have to physically be in an office with other miserable people like herself. Then again, the amount of absurd corporate problems that she had to tackle every single day fuelled her anxiety like nothing else could. No one in their right mind bothered themselves in the real world with the type of things that these people wrote to her about; asking to fix their system issues, or documentation issues, or issues-issues in general. 

Today it seemed that Romy’s boss had finally descended into a level of madness that she never suspected a human being could even achieve, and she would have been impressed had she not been so damn angry with the man. He gave her yet another impossible task to complete by the end of day and she just knew she physically wouldn’t have the time. 

She decided to work in the kitchen, since both her roommates were at work. Also, the coffee machine was closer this way and the large table was comfortable to sit at. 

Romy had so much to do that she didn’t even realize when time flew by and she was already doing overtime. It was one call after another and honestly, at the end of her shift she felt like she couldn’t really function properly in any language anymore — the company was Russian, and she was fluent because of her father. This is why they paid her so well; they needed someone bilingual to liaison and handle the difficult parts of the HR business. Her day-to-day contact was either with oblivious foreigners, whom she had to help out in English in navigating the world of Russian bureaucracy, or the very angry shareholders calling her directly from Moscow and demanding she be their slave. This job required strength and she had plenty, but some time ago she realized she had been toying with the idea of quitting a tad too often.

She wanted to log out already but then she noticed someone calling her directly. They had a red VIP label attached to their icon. Romy sighed, knowing full well she had to take this call, otherwise she’d be in trouble. She answered then and before she could even greet the man, he already started yelling. Romy winced and tried to help either way in between the shouting, but it was useless. 

She didn’t even notice that someone had entered her “office” around the same time, but since the man on the other end of the line was currently busy insulting her work, her whole person, and her non-native accent, she had a hard time to focus. Romy closed her eyes, trying to still talk to him in a professional manner, but then she felt someone touching her hand gently. 

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

It was Alfie. He was standing by the table and she recognized he must have switched on the light. She didn’t even have the mind to do it herself earlier. Romy unplugged the headphones then and sighed, letting the Russian on the other end of the line scream his insults into the void now. She muted her microphone and gave Alfie a tired look.

She was in her pajamas, as she had absolutely no will to live while doing her job, let alone wear a bra for these people. She noticed a quick glance there from Alfie but decided to pay it no mind.

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically. “It’s work.” 

He frowned, looking from the laptop to Romy and then back at the laptop.

“What?”

“I decided to work in the kitchen, you guys were out.”

“This is your _work?_ ”

The Russian was on a tangent now and Romy prayed he’d get that aneurysm already.

“What the fuck do you even do for these people?” Alfie asked. Romy imagined now that maybe he minded her taking over the kitchen like that, perhaps it was a chef thing. She cleared her throat, and meanwhile the Russian was still screaming his balls off, calling her all sorts of things.

“I’ll take this to my room...” She got up but Alfie put his hand on her shoulder, kind of stopping her in her seat. She gave him a surprised look.

“No. Who the fuck is this? Why is he talking to you this way?” Alfie pointed to the laptop again.

“He’s a vice president,” she said, even more resigned than before. She noticed then that the Russian on the other end finally went silent and so she immediately put her headphones back on. “One sec,” she said to Alfie and turned the mic back on. 

In her best and most professional customer service voice she explained to the guy that the issue had already been fixed by IT last week and the only thing required from his end now was to log out and then log in again into his payroll system. He said nothing to that and then promptly disconnected. 

Romy leaned back in her chair and looked at the time. It was eight o’clock in the evening. _Fuck._

Alfie was still standing there, watching her with an outraged expression, his brows knit in frustration that kind of reminded her of Marlowe. _Oh, fuck._ What wouldn’t she give to have Marlowe at her side now; at least then she’d have someone to make her feel better. 

Romy sighed, then shut the lid of her laptop and got up again.

“What the fuck do you do for a living, woman?” Alfie asked sternly. “D’ you work for a fuckin’ mafia or somethin’?”

“Ah, dude, I wish it was mafia,” Romy said and unplugged the laptop charger. She stacked all her tools of the trade neatly and put the coffee mug she’d been using in the sink.

“Are you makin’ weird porn for them or somethin’? Because I ain’t judgin’, alright, but this is too much even for that, mate, I mean is that… is that how things usually go? They just insult your entire fuckin’ person and you have to be nice to ‘em?”

Romy chuckled darkly and then the realization finally hit her. She was so tired she just never fully grasped the fact that Alfie had understood the entire exchange and _that_ was his concern. He understood what the VP had been shouting at her. 

The man was honestly one surprise after another. “Wait, you speak Russian?”

He still looked at her in the same way, obviously mulling something over.

“Yeah,” he turned around then and walked towards the stove. He took out two pots from inside one of the cupboards, evidently now focused on something different. “My mother, she's a linguist,” he muttered and inspected the pot, visibly still wondering about something. “Have you eaten?”

“Ah, sure.” _A lie._

Romy realized then she literally just had one yoghurt and some cereal. That thought sent out an immediate response to her stomach. The growl was so loud that she physically put her arm around it and winced. Alfie chuckled and shook his head at her.

“I’ll probably just order a pizza later,” she said, a bit embarrassed. “You’re welcome to share it if you want,” she offered, as she still wanted to let him know she appreciated his concern. 

_Shouldn’t have taken that mug to the sink._ Could’ve still chucked it at him and made a run for it… Romy smirked to herself a little bit. Wasn’t that lonely? Having inside jokes with yourself?

“Nah, not a fan,” Alfie frowned, then switched one pot for a frying pan. He turned around then, obviously in his own head again, and busied himself to find the right ingredients in the fridge. 

Romy realized that probably Alfie’s standards for food were a tad higher than her own and so she left him to his own devices. None of her friends or family were chefs so she had no idea if, after a long day of work, they even had the energy to cook at home. Then again, Alfie was probably too particular to trust someone else with his meals.

Romy took it as her cue to leave and so she grabbed her work stuff and exited the kitchen, deciding to let him be. Besides, she was too hungry to even watch someone cook. She placed her laptop and other work accessories in an empty drawer in her room, thus distancing herself from her job if just a tiny bit. Then she went to the bathroom to take a scalding hot shower and subsequently spent exactly no time on her hair since she liked to keep it short exactly for that reason. No fussing over the details. She didn’t have the mind for it.

With wet hair and in a fresh set of clothes, Romy went back to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. To be perfectly honest, she was physically hungry but entirely unwilling to eat, as weird as that sounded. It was the residual post-work anxiety, she realized that, since she’d been to therapy a couple of times before. Life was manageable now, though, and she didn’t really want to go back to meds — as much as they had helped her before, she couldn’t stand the side effects. She knew the signs of the situation becoming unbearable, however, and would be ready to renew the prescription when the time came. Because she knew it would. Sometimes she wondered how much longer would the money be the redeeming factor here, until her job finally breaks her.

“Smells good,” she remarked, seeing Alfie nearly done with his cooking. He gave Romy a throaty hum instead of an answer and she realized then that he was putting pasta into two bowls, instead of one. She thought that he was perhaps preparing leftovers for himself but then he took one bowl and a fork and passed that to her.

“Eat,” he said, still entirely serious. 

She hesitated but took the bowl slowly, deciding that the guy probably just pitied her. She was fine with that; she could accept pity because it’s been some time since someone cooked for her or done a nice thing like that in general. She sat down and started to eat, trying to ignore him watching her. She managed half a bowl before he sat down next to her, though still one chair over.

They both ate in silence for a minute, which was a relief for Romy after people talking at her all the goddamn day. Then, Alfie said something, voice considerably softer but still with that throaty rasp.

“You have a much better accent than me,” she sighed. 

_Fuck these people_ , is what he had said to her in Russian.

“Yours is just fine, it’s that job I’d worry about.” For some reason, he was avoiding her gaze now.

“It’s very good money,” she remarked. “But yeah. I hate it. This wasn’t even that bad, to be honest. I’ve had worse callers than this guy, believe me.”

“What the fuck…” Alfie sighed, then went silent. She cleared her bowl and leaned back in the chair, content. _Shit._ That pasta really was something. And Alfie, honestly? One weird but talented guy.

Restless as she was, Romy wanted to return the favor somehow or just let him know she appreciated the gesture. She couldn’t help it, she was still a bit wary with him. Since she noticed he was done eating as well, she stood up and took the dishes to the sink to clean up. Alfie said nothing but she felt his eyes on her back the entire time. She honestly didn’t like cooking, it was a chore, but cleaning was relaxing. There was no thinking involved in cleaning. Still a chore, granted, but at least it made Romy feel accomplished.

“So, was your day as shitty as mine?” she finally asked, as she wiped up the water droplets from the frying pan.

“Nah, it was good,” Alfie said and nodded to himself. He was still looking at her and she felt like she was on display.

“Don’t think I would’ve lasted long with clients like that asshole there, mate,” Alfie said after a good minute. “No shortage of knives in my kitchen, innit?”

She laughed at that and nodded. He smiled at her and this time the stern look faded away.

“Thank you, I—”

He raised a hand and shook his head. “All good.”

“Hm,” she looked around the kitchen, suddenly needing to busy her hands with something. “I’ve got beer, do you want one?”

“Don’t drink.”

_Interesting._ In recovery?

“But do you mind if I do?”

“Nah, ‘course not.” 

Romy nodded and took the beer out of the fridge. She liked drinking it straight from the bottle so didn’t even bother with a glass. She sat back down next to Alfie and after a few sips she felt herself relax. Granted, it was a dangerous thing when alcohol relaxed you, even more dangerous was to make it a habit after you’ve had a tough day — all of her work days were tough, after all. She tried to limit herself but then, this was no Eastern European beer. This was English and weak as piss. Did the job, though.

Alfie started to talk now, telling her a story about the weird customers that came to the restaurant for lunch. None of them sounded bad, though, and he made the stories funny. Romy listened with her eyes half-closed, after a while just sipping the beer and not even paying too much attention to the meaning of his words; she just listened to him like she would listen to music. The anxiety subsided and she unclenched her jaw a little bit.

Then, she heard the front door unlock and straightened up in her chair like a student caught on daydreaming. 

“Oh, hi you guys!” Ada exclaimed as she entered the kitchen, the smell of her expensive perfume following her. “Something smells good! Alfie, did you cook?”

Romy frowned, not entirely sure what to make of this now. This suggested he didn’t do it all that often. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed; she really must have looked like quite the disaster for him to pity her so much.

“A bit,” Alfie said. “Help yourself, luv.”

Ada beamed at him and eagerly prepared herself a bowl from what was left in the pot. She sat down next to Romy and immediately started eating.

“Mm, this is delicious!” she mumbled and then hummed gleefully. Romy smiled at her because it was very hard not to smile at Ada.

She heard Alfie chuckle a bit at Ada’s appreciation and then let herself relax again. She finished her beer but decided against another one. That is, until Ada said:

“Hey, Romy, wanna share one with me?”

“Sure!” she said, entirely too eagerly. She opened two more for her and Ada and gave her the beer.

“Ah, thanks. You’re a star.” Ada clinked her bottle together with Romy’s and resumed eating. Romy drank and looked at the wall in front of her, no energy to do or say anything.

Then, Alfie pointed at her left forearm and asked:

“So why is David Bowie on your side, right, but this guy out in the open right here?”

Romy looked at her hand even though she already knew which tattoo Alfie meant there. “This guy” would be her twin brother, Miles. He died a couple of years ago, just as he got out of rehab. Overdosed a week after they released him home, actually. It happened sometimes with addicts; his body had detoxed and couldn’t take the regular amount he would have been taking before the clinic — at least that’s what Romy’s therapist had told her. This was why Romy came to her in the first place, to deal with her grief, but eventually she stayed for the other baggage. The sessions really helped her clean up some messes, but not that perpetually racing stream of consciousness inside her.

“Miles,” she said and smiled to herself. “My brother.”

Alfie hummed and since he asked anyway, Romy showed him another one, underneath her right bicep. It was a small, cartoonish Mia Wallace from “Pulp Fiction”.

“This one is a matching tattoo, I got it with my ex. She has John Travolta, I have Uma Thurman. We got it together from this visiting artist from Denmark, a really cool dude. Love his lines, they’re so precise and… you know, clean? Love that style.”

“Oh,” Ada said, suddenly interested. Romy prayed ardently in the moment that her sudden slip up about the “she” wouldn’t get her any homophobia. “Will you have it removed, then? Since she’s your ex?”

“No,” Romy said pensively, but exhaled in her head. One problem less, at least. “I like it too much. And I did like her, we didn’t… it wasn’t like a big fight or anything, it wasn’t a traumatic breakup. We just drifted apart gradually.”

_A lie._ Romy was such a liar sometimes. Her therapist used to tell her that she tended to avoid sharing in order to paint a happier picture of her life for others. She knew the woman was right, but should she really have burdened her brand new roommates with all the sad stories? _Everyone has baggage_ , Romy decided. Who knows, perhaps she would straighten it up with Alfie and Ada one day, if they really wanted to know.

“I’m sorry,” Ada said either way, compassionately.

“Don’t be, it was a year ago or something.” Romy shrugged. “All good.”

“Are you seeing anyone now?” Ada asked then, somewhat slyly.

“Nah. You’ve seen my job,” Romy turned towards Alfie who now seemed to have been back to pensive. He looked at her, though, as she said that. “It’s demanding enough, I wouldn’t have the emotional capacity,” her hollow laugh that followed had no humor in it.

Ada and Alfie exchanged looks Romy couldn’t decipher.

“Oh, yeah, Ada, it’s fucked up,” Alfie said, his voice back to serious. “You remember Tommy’s Christmas breakdown? This is fuckin’ worse, mate, never heard shit like that, and people throw all kinds of fuckwittage around me all the goddamn day.”

“Holy shit.” Ada looked at Romy now, eyes big and concerned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone rant worse than our Tom.”

“Nah, this is fuckin’ abuse. You shouldn’t take it, Romy.”

Suddenly, she felt embarrassed again. She barely knew these people and was already forcing them to care about her shitty little life. She had made a mistake like that before and knew that ultimately, you should be friendly with roommates but remember they were still your roommates. 

“I’ll be fine. But thank you,” Romy smiled at him and this time did a very good job to hide her sadness. “So who’s Tommy?” she asked Ada, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, my brother.” She grinned, realizing immediately that Romy wanted to talk about something else now. “He runs the company. I work… well, not entirely for him but not with him, either. We try to be a team but it’s a bit difficult with family.” 

Romy nodded earnestly. Oh, yes. She had her own share of issues on the subject, and that was even without her twin’s sudden death. Once she had agreed to work as her mother’s assistant and after two weeks they nearly clawed each other’s eyes out.

“But I’m sure you know what I mean,” Ada said quickly, as if sensing Romy withdraw into her own head again. “Is Miles your only sibling?”

“My twin,” she smiled to herself and finished her beer. Entirely unexpectedly, Alfie took her wrist gently and inspected Miles’s face once more. He looked back at Romy’s face and then at the tattoo. A tiny bit shocked, she said nothing and let him do it.

“Don’t see it,” he announced.

“Oh, you little shit, stop embarrassing her!” Ada laughed. Alfie grumbled and gave her the finger. She did the same immediately but then they just grinned at each other and settled down. Romy smiled at that. She liked how close they were. 

“Am I embarrassing you, Romy?” Alfie asked her, voice suddenly low.

She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“No,” she lied, unconvincingly. He wasn’t embarrassing her per se, both him and Ada were a very pleasant company to be in. He was just a tiny bit unpredictable. A little forward, too, though not in a creepy way. Romy has met her fair share of creepy men, especially with the “nice guy” personas. And Alfie wasn’t that. She would've long sensed it. She still wasn't entirely sure about his character, but he was not a creep. He was actually kind of sweet.

“See? You’re just jealous, darlin’,” Alfie said to Ada triumphantly.

“Oh my God,” Ada rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I literally moved here to stop fighting with my idiot brothers and then in waltzes this guy!”

Alfie chuckled at that before he got up and busied himself with making tea.

“Oh, more than one brother, then?” Romy asked Ada, a little intrigued. It wasn’t common for people to have multiple siblings anymore.

“Yeah, there’s me, John, Tommy, Arthur, and little Finn. Who is like seventeen now but we still call him little. We have two cousins, too, and countless nephews and nieces, it’s insane! You should see our Christmases, Tommy’s drunk rants are honestly the least messy bits.”

Romy saw it in her face that the family was close. Ada spoke of them a little as if they were a pain in the ass, but her twinkling eyes told another story entirely.

“They sound really cool, Ada,” Romy said, trying to sound as genuinely as possible.

“They’re Satan’s spawn is what they are, mate,” Alfie added and placed a mug before both women. Then he sat back down with the third. The red one, Romy noticed. 

“Thank you,” she said to him and he just nodded, clearing his throat. 

“Alfie’s not a fan,” Ada explained, a bit amused. “He doesn’t celebrate Christmas but I make him come with me just to witness the crazy. It’s great fun!”

“I’d just like to mention, right, since you obviously share the Shelby devil genom, that last year your fuckin’ brother gave me a dildo.”

“Like I said,” Ada grinned at Romy. “Fun!”

“Wasn’t even my size, mate.”

Romy snorted at that.

“Oh, come on!” Ada exclaimed. “We’re loud and we fight a lot but we have each other’s back.”

“Or stab each other in it, either one will do.”

“Oi!”

“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Romy asked Alfie then, seeing their argument escalating a bit.

“Nah, Jewish,” he said, a bit calmer now.

“And proud!” Ada chirped and Alfie rolled his eyes at her. He was still smiling, though.

“Aye, all them Shelbys drink too much and have way too much money to be entirely sane, yeah,” Alfie grumbled. “Except Pol, she’s a fuckin’ saint for raising you lot.”

Raised by the aunt, then? _Interesting._

“Don’t get high and mighty at me, mister!” Ada huffed. “I know bloody well you love Tommy, it’s incredible he hasn’t fucked you yet!”

“I’m a faster runner than him.”

Romy looked at Alfie then, suddenly wondering about it. Was Alfie gay? Perhaps. As a bisexual disaster herself, though, she had absolutely no intuition about these things. 

Ada huffed. “I’d prefer you as my brother-in-law than that bitchy wife of his, though.”

Alfie barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Your brother doesn’t deserve me and you know it, sweetie.”

“True.”

“He’s straight and that’s torture enough, innit.”

“But you’re coming with me for her birthday party!”

“Have to check my calendar.”

“Alfie!”

“I’m a busy man, luv, aren’t I?”

Ada looked at Romy then and added:

“She’s a Libra.”

“Ouch,” Romy winced. 

“Alfie’s a Scorpio, the evil genius.”

Romy chuckled at that. Jesus. She thought she had them both figured out at least three times already. They were both so unpredictable. And… actually fun. She managed to forget her day for a minute there and that would very rarely have happened before.

“And you?” Romy asked Ada. 

“Oh, Sagittarius Sun, Pisces Moon and Scorpio ascending,” she recited easily. 

“That’s such a fuckin’ word salad, innit, I have no idea what any of that shit means.”

“That’s exactly what a Scorpio would say,” Romy murmured, with a little smirk. Ada laughed and nodded. 

“Oh, wait! But you are...?” Ada took out her phone, undoubtedly to put Romy in her astrology app. Yep, sure enough, she noticed the little crescent moon icon on Ada’s main screen.

“Cancer,” Romy said.

Ada looked at her then and smirked a little with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Yeah, right, can we go back to the part where Ada begs me to be her handsome date?”

“Oh, fuck off, Alf! You just want to insult Grace’s cooking and rile Tommy up.”

“I mean, I have no life, I could probably be a decent date if Alfie’s too busy,” Romy said softly, pretending to be pensive. 

Ada laughed again. Alfie just looked at Romy, pretending to be offended. 

“Oh, Alf!” Ada groaned, seeing his face. “Come on, she was joking! You know you’re the only one for me!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“My Moon and my stars!”

“Get outta here.”

“My disaster husband!”

“Ada!”

“My idiot in crime!”

Romy was laughing out loud now and her both roommates looked identically pleased with themselves seeing that. Finally, Alfie grunted and got up to get more tea:

“Don’t worry, Ada, I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon, I’m all yours,” Alfie poured the tea for everyone again. “That is, if Romy’ll share. I think we’re growing on her.”

“As a local bisexual disaster, I must say that you are,” Romy murmured. She felt like such a cliche. Why did she want Alfie to know she was into men, too?

_Oh, God._ She knew exactly why. The man was nice to her and made her pasta. 

_Bloody hell._

“Oh my God, BISEXUAL DISASTERS AND A LESBIAN!” Ada exclaimed loudly, gesturing wildly between all three.

“Oh wow, Alfie’s a lesbian?!” Romy said, faking surprise.

Ada shrieked with laughter at that while Alfie gave Romy a slight nudge. All of this was… unexpected. But nice. Romy didn’t have that many LGBT friends so it was cool to know that she just broadened her circles with two. Both Alfie and Ada definitely seemed safer to her now. _Pack solidarity_ , she supposed.

“Fine, go with her,” Alfie groaned at Ada, stretching his back a bit. “Leave me. Abandon me, why dontcha…”

“Well,” Romy pretended to think about it. “I’m flattered but I’m afraid my heart belongs to another.”

She decided to spin this another way because if all of them kept semi-flirting like that at each other, then honestly it will get very weird, very soon.

“Oooh, spill! Who is he? She? They?” Ada moved her chair closer to Romy. She took out her phone and showed Ada her wallpaper. It was a black-and-white picture of Marlowe. 

“Marlowe,” Romy said and couldn’t keep her voice from sounding a bit emotional. “He’s my baby.”

Alfie leaned in closer from the other side and let out a bizarre sound.

“Oh boy,” Ada sighed, now in turn rolling her eyes at him. “Here we go…”

“Ada.” Alfie took the phone from Romy and shoved the screen right at her unexpecting face. “ADA!”

“Oh, fuck!” Ada giggled and shook her head, pushing him away. “Forget it, now he’ll never shut up about the dog.”

“Oh, he lives with my mom in Luton,” Romy added quickly, entirely used to people judging Marlowe based on the urban legends surrounding the breed. “I wouldn’t assume you’d let me have him here, I mean—”

“ADA!”

“Forget it, Alfie! Polly would flip her shit!”

“Look at his tiny dog face! Look! He’s SMILING!”

“She’d murder us so fuckin’ fast—”

“ADA!”

_Oh._ Definitely a dog lover, then, Romy thought. Suddenly, the big scary guy turned into an adorable mess.

“He’s a sweet dog, really, he’s a little shy,” Romy continued and pointed towards her phone. Alfie was still looking at the picture, beaming. “I took him from the shelter after they rescued him from the dog fighting dens—”

“Oh what the fuck!” Ada exclaimed then. “Here? In London?”

“Yeah…”

“People still do that? It’s sick!”

“It is…” Romy admitted. Alfie still wouldn’t give her the phone back and so she unlocked it for him and showed him the gallery. Nearly all pictures were of Marlowe. After viewing every other one, Alfie systematically shoved the phone at Ada’s face, with pleading eyes. 

“Oh, fuck’s sake, you have no idea what you’ve done, Romy,” Ada grumbled, though not really irritated. She looked at Alfie with fondness, entirely accepting of his weirdness.

“You’re welcome to meet him, if you want,” Romy offered to Alfie, now a little more convinced he wasn’t as scary as he looked. Perhaps like Marlowe, after all. “I’m visiting him this weekend, if you’d—”

“I’ll drive ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boss, if you’re reading this: I don’t hate my job and I really need it. This is all just so that the fictional man could comfort the fictional woman. No Russians yelled at anyone for the purpose of this story.


	2. The Fairy Princess

Romy woke up on Saturday morning, light and relieved that she didn’t have to work. She had forty-eight glorious, stress-free hours before her. After a long shower, she changed into something comfortable. She expected to get mud on her today. She had a plan to take Marlowe for a long walk to make up for the past two weeks where she couldn’t come to see him. 

She walked towards the kitchen but even before she saw her roommates, she overheard their conversation loud and clear. They were not ones for subtleties:

“Oi, not you fuckin’ eyeballing the milk again, mate!”

“Fuck off!”

“You fuck off! A bloody _luftmensh_ is what you are, woman!”

“Stop calling me that or tell me what the fuck it means, already!”

“It means, _measure your fuckin’ ingredients!_ ”

“Morning,” Romy said then and went straight for the fridge to make herself something to eat. 

“Oh, no! Put the eggs down, I’m making omelets,” Ada exclaimed cheerfully while Alfie, sitting at the table, groaned and rubbed his face with his hand. 

“A big fuckin’ mess is what you’re makin’, though, innit?” Alfie squeezed his red mug tighter then, as if it could return some much needed comfort to his tired soul. Romy laughed at his misery a little and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. 

“I’m sure they’ll be good,” she offered diplomatically and sat down next to Alfie. One chair over.

“When d’ you wanna leave?” Alfie asked, as soon as she sat down. 

“I was thinking in an hour?”

“Sooner. Might be traffic.”

“Oh my God, stop terrorizing her!” Ada exclaimed, as she poured the egg mixture onto the hot pan. “The dog will still be there, let her eat!”

Romy chuckled at that and shook her head. 

“You guys are way too nice to me,” she said quietly. 

“Aww, we are, aren’t we?” Ada turned around with a big grin on her face. Romy noticed she was wearing an apron with tiny cartoon huskies on it and wondered if it was Alfie’s.

“Did you like the movie?” Alfie asked then, pointing to Romy’s coffee. She had managed to finally unpack her shit yesterday and was very happy to find her Venom mug survived the move intact. 

“Oh, yeah!” She grinned. “I’ve actually seen it twice with my friend Linda, she’s a big Hardy fan.”

“Was it the one where he falls in love with the goo demon?” Ada asked, as she turned the first omelet around. It smelled great. Romy suspected that Alfie being intense about people cooking around him was probably just an inside joke between him and Ada, more than anything else.

“Yup,” Alfie said. “Cool stuff.”

Before Romy could stop her big mouth from running, she said:

“Oh yeah, the amount of monsterfuckers that resurfaced after that movie was incredible, I was so here for it.”

“The what?” Alfie asked while Ada squealed and happily placed her first finished omelete on the plate, clearly having registered exactly nothing from the conversation.

Romy decided not to elaborate on the matter then, since she was guilty of painting one digital NSFW fanart on the subject back in the day. Better not give Ada a hint, she suspected she might be too excited to see it and then… _share with the rest of the class._

“Here!” Ada said to Alfie and triumphantly passed him the fork and a jar of jam. “Eat your heart out, Gordon Ramsay!”

“Oi, Gordon’s much better than me, he’s a lovely man, alright?” Alfie said. He made no fuss about actually eating the omelet, though, and Romy realized maybe she had invented the whole “being very particular with food” part in her head. After all, she had quite the imagination.

After breakfast, Romy obliged Alfie's plan to get going as soon as possible. While in the car, first and foremost she instructed him in detail on how to get introduced to Marlowe, as her dog still tended to have some residual anxiety when it came to men. She was still a bit wary with Alfie and her number one priority here was of course Marlowe’s wellbeing. Romy had introduced him to friends before, though, so she wasn't too worried. It was always in a safe environment and on Marlowe’s terms, of course, but truth be told, she had a good feeling about Alfie — he listened to her monologue in its entirety, nodding in the right places, and never interrupted her once.

She also realized, with some relief, that despite his otherwise very vibrant personality, Alfie didn’t drive like he wanted to kill them. He swore a lot, granted, but she paid that no mind. She let herself relax and quietly looked out the window. Romy didn’t much care for the whole cottagecore type of escapism her mother had going on; she was a city girl at heart. But she could definitely appreciate nature — just not too often, and no bugs, please. 

“Y’know, she had to change her name to become a singer,” Alfie said then, pulling Romy out of her thoughts. 

Nina Simone was playing on the old cassette radio. Romy couldn’t remember the last time she was listening to a cassette. Alfie had an older car but it was in good condition; he obviously took care of it. It was also red and Romy wondered if perhaps this was his favorite color. 

“Her real name was Eunice, right,” he continued the story and she looked at him now, curious. “Her mother, she told her this sorta music was _Devil’s music_ , and Nina didn’t want her to find out she’d be working as a bar performer. And so she changed her name to keep it a secret.”

“That’s beautiful,” Romy said, before she could help herself. “The music,” she added quickly. 

“Hm, yeah. One of my favorite artists. Intense kinda voice, innit.”

Since the subject came up, Romy decided to ask:

“How did you learn to play the trumpet?”

Alfie smiled to himself softly. “Took lessons after the yeshiva. It was a compromise with my parents. They wanted me to attend, right, but all I wanted was to play jazz, man...”

She noticed Alfie was speaking a bit differently now. Perhaps it was the tight space of the car, but his voice was softer and his exclamations not as loud. 

“Sorry, the… What?”

“Ah, right, the, uh… it’s like a school,” he said. “Yeah, I slip up sometimes, it’s ‘cause of my dad.”

She was intrigued now. “Did he speak Hebrew with you?”

“Hm,” Alfie hummed, which she interpreted as a yes. “Yeah, we spoke Hebrew. Sometimes.”

“Yiddish?”

“Yeah, mate, though it’s not for speaking anymore, it’s a… Uh, I think my old man was probably the last man alive who still spoke acceptable Yiddish and wasn’t a rabbi.”

 _Was._ She wondered then about something else, since Alfie looked entirely too young to have dead parents yet.

“How old are you?”

He chuckled. “Thirty-three. You?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Ah, man, were you also stressed about being twenty-seven?”

“Uh… no?” she smiled at him and wondered what he meant by that. She had a feeling it would be some more of his weird theories and she wanted to know. 

The tape ended then and they both reached for the radio to turn it over. Their hands met and Alfie retracted his faster and so she interpreted it as permission to do it. It must have been a mixtape because the next song was Frank Sinatra’s. 

“Why would I be stressed about being twenty-seven?” she asked.

“Yeah, ‘cause of the club, mate, innit? I was fuckin’ terrified to die by accident and lemme tell ya, my mom would curse my fuckin’ ass so fast it’d give me whiplash! She always hated my music, right, not the jazz but the other ones, and so I was convinced that if I’d died then, she’d think I wanted to be the next Janis Joplin or Kurt Cobain, or some shit. Didn’t drive for a year when I was twenty-seven.”

Romy giggled at that because it was so absurd but also so inherently like Alfie.

“Jesus Christ,” she chuckled still and shook her head.

“Never heard of ‘im,” he smirked and she giggled again.

“I liked being twenty-seven, it was still far away from thirty,” she sighed. “You know, I found my first grey hair when I was sixteen? That’s just unfair!”

“Oh, fuck off, mate, you look _fine,_ ” Alfie said and then he cleared his throat. “Ah, sorry. ‘S my thing, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, relax. I noticed, I don’t mind,” she said quickly. “Honestly, the swear words in English seem very Mickey Mouse when you compare them to Russian, don’t they?”

“Ah, ain’t that the truth.” Alfie nodded at that. “So how come you speak it?” he asked.

“My dad’s Russian. He was a musician, a classical pianist.”

“Huh. And do you play?”

“No.” To her father’s dismay, Romy was one-hundred percent tone-deaf. “He tried to teach me, many times.” She looked out the window again. It kind of helped her to share, not looking at the guy. And for some reason, she felt like sharing with Alfie. Perhaps it was the mellow atmosphere between them, the car ride managed to calm her down entirely.

“He was the worst teacher, y’know? But… uh, different upbringing, I suppose. He actually came to London to participate in a piano contest, then met my mom, she was in the audience... And he never left England. Left his entire family back in Sankt Petersburg, though. His mother never forgave him, apparently, but I guess when you have an option to escape a place like the USSR, you just do it.”

Alfie stayed silent for a good minute. It was probably the longest string of quasi-personal sentences she had uttered to him since they met.

“So when you say, ‘he was’...” Alfie said, this time in an extremely gentle tone. 

“Oh, he’s not dead,” she corrected herself quickly. “It just feels like it. Maybe he still plays, I haven’t seen him in years.”

 _Ah._ Yes, by all means… Fill the car up with your _Daddy Issues_ , Rom.

There was something about Alfie, though, that made her want to share some parts. She somehow sensed he was not one to judge. Besides, he’d already seen her in a small crisis and never made her feel bad for it. She wanted to trust him. At some point it became much too difficult to go through life in a state of permanent suspicion towards people.

“Aye, that sucks, mate,” he offered.

“Nah, ‘s fine. My mom’s nice. She’s—” she stopped herself because the realization hit her then. Alfie would meet her mother. _Today_ . How come that thought had escaped her before? She felt her stomach clench. _Oh God_ , she’ll make it weird… She could already picture it. She'd known this guy for two weeks and was already exposing him to _that._

“Yeah?” Alfie apparently wanted her to answer. 

“She’s a music theory professor. And uh…” Romy couldn’t finish. She didn’t want to ask him this, but for the sake of them living together in peace, she realized she had to. Her mother would immediately assume he was her boyfriend, she just knew it. 

Alfie must have sensed her discomfort somehow, because he glanced at her quickly before looking back at the road, and said:

“Aye, mate, don’t worry, yeah? I know it’s your mother, I promise I’ll behave.” He smiled at her. “I’m excellent with mothers, it’s a goddamn gift.”

“Oh, it’s her I’m worried about,” she said and rested her head against the window. She listened to the next song and felt like being silent for a while.

Alfie hummed at the statement and then started another story, this time about Frank Sinatra’s gangster ties. Romy just listened this time, but still laughed in the right bits. Alfie had a way with words. She enjoyed that ride immensely and was almost sad when it was over.

“Alright if I park here?” Alfie asked as they arrived at the house.

“Sure.” Romy was still mulling over the possible word usage for introducing her roommate. The more she looked at the house, the worse she felt about each possible choice.

“Stop scheming,” Alfie said as they got out of the car. 

“What?” she asked, surprised.

“I can see it, alright? Relax. I’m on my best behavior, yeah?”

She chuckled a bit before she unlocked the front gate. “Again, it’s her I don’t trust.”

“Ah, so you trust me, then?” He went in after her, grinning.

“Don’t make me regret it, man,” she grumbled. She had her own set of keys to the house but always preferred to ring the doorbell, anyway. She hasn't been living here for a very long time, after all. 

It was one of the older houses in town, with a beautiful, spacious garden that Romy’s mother liked to keep just on the verge of unkempt. There was an old oak tree to the right of the house — Romy used to climb it all the time as a little girl. Her father hated when she did that; he actually hated that entire house. It was in his wife’s name, which annoyed him until the very end. Then again, thank God for that, since he turned into a major asshole for the entirety of the divorce proceedings.

Romy stopped right before they reached the front door and Alfie stopped with her, saying nothing. She fixed her eyes on the hollow tree stump near the rose bushes.

“Ghosts?” Alfie asked then.

“When I was little, I used to pretend fairies lived in that tree stump,” she confessed.

“Ah,” he looked at it then, with visible interest. 

She had no idea why she wanted to share that but then again, he seemed like the exact sort of person to talk about fae folk to.

“I can see why,” he admitted and she laughed a bit at his deadpan expression.

“Come on.” 

They approached the front door and she rang the doorbell. As it sounded, Romy heard barking and footsteps and her stomach fluttered a bit in excitement. Her mother opened the door and exclaimed Romy’s name in a surprised tone, even though Romy had made sure to notify her she was coming. Marlowe was barking behind her mother, trying to get through the door first and obviously warn the household about the incoming strangers.

“Hi, Mom… _Oh, my babyyyy!_ ” Romy let herself be excited and went straight for the dog to greet him properly. Her mother huffed in annoyance, but then shifted her attention entirely to Alfie.

“Oh, hello,” she looked at him, then at Romy, then back at him, and outstretched her hand. “I’m Rowan, Romualda’s mother.”

Romy rolled her eyes, hearing the full version of the name she’s always hated. Her father’s choice. Each named one twin and Romy ended up with, in her personal opinion, the shitty end of the stick.

She couldn’t pout for long, though, because Marlowe was so excited to see her. He just wanted to throw himself at Romy and lick her face to death, that’s all that was on his dog agenda for today. He didn’t even notice there was an unfamiliar man standing right beside him. 

Unfazed, Alfie gave Rowan one of the most polite smiles Romy had ever seen on him and shook her mother’s hand eagerly. “Alfie Solomons, nice to meet you, ma’am.”

 _Ma’am…_ Oh, her mother _loved_ that, Romy could already tell.

“Nice to meet you.”

Romy noticed that her mother was doing her Professor Voice and that made her chuckle a little bit. 

“Alfie wanted to meet you! Yes! Yes! My gorgeous boy, how are you?” she cooed at Marlowe and didn’t even care that she kept everyone waiting in the entrance. She was crouching now and letting Marlowe get the excitement out of his system.

“Oh, well… Could we please get inside, I’m—” Romy’s mother was growing impatient, while Alfie just chuckled at the sight of Marlowe’s temporary insanity.

“Hope it’s alright? As soon as she showed me the dog… ah, just the sweetest boy, isn’t he?” Alfie said then and Romy realized he _really_ was on his best behavior with her mother.

“No, it’s perfectly alright,” Rowan huffed slightly, “I just didn’t expect a boyfriend after the last—”

“Roomate,” they both said, in unison. Romy straightened up then immediately and cleared her throat. “My… roommate. Alfie’s my roommate.” She wiped her cheeks of dog slobber with her sleeve.

Her mother was now looking from one to the other again.

“You sure?” Rowan asked, with a tiny smirk. 

“What do you mean if I’m sure, of course I’m sure,” her daughter grunted.

“You said it three times, dear.”

“I—”

“Yeah, we… Uh,” Alfie cleared his throat, “we live together with my other friend, Ada, nice apartment, ma’am, it’s good neighborhood—”

“Alright, Nigella Lawson, you’re not selling her the property,” Romy grabbed Alfie’s elbow then and pulled him inside, strategically also slightly forcing Marlowe to get back in the house. Both followed her obediently, while her mother just sighed and closed the door behind everyone.

“I made tea,” she announced and squeezed past everyone into the living room, as Romy and Alfie took off their shoes and jackets. She noticed Alfie had two different socks on but this was also when Marlowe finally noticed Alfie properly, too. His residual anxiety towards men resurfaced and he growled warningly, eyes fixed on Alfie and his dark jacket.

“Take off the jacket but slowly,” Romy said immediately, but deliberately making her voice softer and almost like a whisper. “He’ll be fine, he just doesn’t like men very much.”

Alfie said nothing and looked away from the dog, as Romy stood between them and shushed Marlowe softly. She outstretched her hand and Marlowe busied himself with sniffing it, but then went back to growling at Alfie. It was a warning, though, Romy knew it well enough. She had introduced men to Marlowe before and by now had the routine pretty much down.

Then, she felt Alfie put something in her hand and she realized it was a dog treat. Romy smiled and, still focused on the dog, she tried to get his attention.

“Marlowe,” she said to him in a clear voice, now entirely serious. “Sit.” She outstretched her hand.

He was a smart boy, alright. Noticed immediately she had something for him. He sat down obediently, eyes fixed on the treat and growling entirely forgotten. Romy fed it to him and when she turned to Alfie to instruct him on the next move, she realized he remembered exactly what to do from her car monologue. 

He was sitting on the floor, in some distance from Marlowe, and waited until the dog stopped eating. Then, careful not to make eye contact, he dropped another treat on the floor. Marlowe ate it in seconds, then fixed his eyes on Alfie’s hand, wagging his tail expectantly. He was improving, Romy realized. Or maybe Alfie’s love for dogs somehow gave off that vibe for Marlowe to sense.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Romy!” Her mother entered the hall then, huffing in exasperation at the sight of it all. Marlowe barked excitedly upon hearing louder exclamations and Romy giggled slightly at the reaction. She noticed then that he seemed to get calmer much faster than with any other guy she had introduced to him before. 

“Why on earth do you keep making all the men sit on the floor!”

“To see if I can,” Romy said in a deadpan voice.

Alfie laughed at that but still looked up at her, as if wordlessly asking for her sign that it was safe for the dog for him to get up.

“Alright, slowly,” she turned to him and grabbed his forearm. He squeezed hers in turn and got up with a slight groan. Alfie was still holding her while she observed Marlowe closely but was entirely disinterested in Alfie now, busy sniffing the carpet in search of more treats. 

Then, Rowan raised her hands up in the air and exclaimed:

“Tea!” 

Romy let go of Alfie but noticed him watching her. He was smiling and she returned it, very grateful that he went along with the entire introduction process.

Marlowe followed Romy’s mother into the kitchen and Alfie kept his careful distance, with no sudden movements or attention towards the dog. Romy noted that this could no longer be just her influence; Alfie genuinely seemed to know what to do.

He stopped in the living room, though, noticing the old record player on the chest of drawers.

“No way,” Alfie said. The music was quiet enough to not be audible from the hall but now Romy noticed it, too. It was Miles Davis, probably… On Saturdays it was usually him, for her brother.

“Such a good record,” Alfie said then and Rowan popped her head out of the kitchen.

“You can turn it up. The knob is—”

Alfie knew how the record player worked and turned the right knob before she could finish the sentence. Not too much, though, but just in time for the best part of the main trumpet part to receive its very deserved highlight. 

Romy noticed her mother’s content expression. She always loved that song. Alfie was still looking at the album cover. It must have been one of Romy’s mother’s first editions — very worn-out in terms of the cover, but in mint condition as for the record itself.

“I prefer this to Chet,” Rowan said then. “Now, come. Milk or sugar?”

“Neither, thank you, ma’am,” Alfie said and followed to the kitchen.

“I always thought it was a wonderful song, until I heard him butcher it in Paris.” Romy’s mother poured the tea. “Not a bad singer, but not quite it with the brass, in my opinion.”

“Bad decision on Chet’s part, you cannot top _that_.” Alfie sat down next to Romy. One chair over.

She pretended not to see that, but was grateful he had noticed the pattern and respected her boundaries. She outstretched her hand towards Marlowe then and he trotted towards her. He sat by her side, wagging his tail excitedly. She scratched him behind the ears gently, reminding him softly he was the best boy.

“But his _Autumn Leaves_ over Nat King Cole’s?” her mother asked innocently and Romy realized immediately she was testing Alfie for some reason.

“Oh, no, that’s just a fact, ma’am.”

“Very good,” Rowan said then, as if he were her student. 

_C minus,_ Romy thought to herself, mimicking her mother’s teacher tone in her head.

“I liked Jeff Goldblum’s version,” Romy muttered, not really expecting anyone to notice. But Alfie noticed and gave her a little smile.

“Look at you, Miss Marvel Fan!”

She smiled at him, too, but then her mother asked him another question about jazz musicians and Romy knew her time to talk was entirely over. Alfie never shared that he played, though, and that kind of surprised her. On the other hand, maybe he realized her mother was very stern in her opinions and he didn’t want to be judged. Either way, they continued their discussion, while Romy focused entirely on the dog. After a while, Marlowe got curious and walked towards Alfie, tentatively sniffing his leg. Then he sniffed his hand Alfie stopped talking; he couldn’t help himself. Romy smiled at that since the guy was finally receiving his much deserved dog attention.

“Alfie really wanted to meet Marlowe,” she explained to her mother, who now seemed a bit offended that the dog was more important than music. “He loves dogs.”

Romy realized she was speaking a little bit for him then but hoped he wouldn’t mind. Alfie didn’t seem like he did; he spoke to Marlowe softly now, again reminding him of being the best boy, and threw him another treat. He had a packet in his jeans pocket, Romy noticed.

“Oh, take him then,” her mother said, waving her hand dismissively. “I mean it, I’m more of a cat person and he’s a handful.”

“Mom!”

“Romualda, it’s your dog, remember? This was supposed to be temporary.”

In truth, Romy felt guilty all the time for burdening her with another responsibility, but her mother saying it out loud always tripled the force of it.

“Ah, I would,” Alfie said and cleared his throat. “In a heartbeat, ma’am, he’s such a sweetheart, yeah. But it’s not my apartment, it’s my friend Ada’s aunt, she—”

“Talk to the aunt, then,” Rowan said matter-of-factly, and sipped her tea, making a point of looking straight at her daughter. _If only life was so fucking simple,_ Romy thought.

“I can’t ask her that,” she said quietly. “We’ve never actually met—”

“You’re paying a person you’ve never met! Rom…”

Alfie got quiet then but Romy somehow sensed it was very much on purpose. She imagined he himself probably knew Polly Gray and, in respect to Ada, didn’t appreciate Rowan’s implication that the landlady was dishonest.

“Do you want to take him for a walk?” he said, before Romy could think of a good enough comment that would lessen the tension.

“Yup!” She stood up immediately and shot her mother a look. She didn’t notice, though. She’d already gotten up to turn the record over. 

Romy and Alfie walked straight towards the hall but from the corner of her eye, Romy saw him linger and admire her mother’s record collection. It outstretched throughout seven separate bookcases.

“Later,” she promised him. Alfie seemed to have gotten the suggestion because he nodded and followed her to the hall. As soon as Romy put her shoes on, Marlowe’s mood changed. She quickly grabbed his leash then, to let him know she wasn't leaving just yet. He wagged his tail enthusiastically, returning to his regular, cheerful self. He actually wagged his tail so much that she barely managed to attach the leash to his collar. 

Alfie opened the door for them, as both Marlowe and his human couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. As soon as she walked out the gate, Romy felt lighter. 

“I’ll show you his favorite path,” she offered to Alfie, voice entirely different and much brighter. He just hummed in agreement and followed.

They walked towards the large patch of green fields that outstretched behind the house. Not that many neighbors in this part of town; it was rather quiet and filled with more old trees than residents. 

“She’s an interesting woman,” Alfie said then. “Your mother.”

Romy just sighed and nodded at the statement, if a bit automatically. “Yeah, she’s still teaching. That’s why she can be a little judgemental.”

She realized she was making excuses for her mother but what was she supposed to do? They walked in silence for a while after that, until Romy decided this was safe enough and sufficiently far from the road to let Marlowe run around a bit. She unhooked the leash and smiled as he jumped at the opportunity, immediately running off somewhere, looking for new smells. Romy thought she didn’t deserve him, this dog was so pure. 

“Y’know,” Alfie said, his hands in his pockets. “You could talk to Polly. She’s a cat person too, granted, but I could—”

“They made me get rid of him once before,” Romy interrupted, not willing to toy in the slightest with even the smidge of hope that Polly would ever agree. “My previous roommates. And the landlord. They said he was dangerous. I mean, yeah, the guys I lived with had no fuckin’ sense of consent and Marlowe is shy...”

“But you don’t wanna go through that again, I get it.” Alfie took out a pack of cigarettes then and put one in his mouth. That was honestly surprising, as Romy could never smell them on him before. He must have sensed something because he chuckled and said:

“Nasty habit, yeah. Mind if I…?”

“Nah, go ahead.” She was never a smoker but honestly had no opinion on cigarettes. Not that it mattered; they were both adults. 

Alfie lit the cigarette. She noticed he turned around from the sudden gust of autumn wind and a strong scent of sulphur reached her for a brief moment. _He was using matches_ , she realized. She smiled at his grandfatherly habits. 

Romy whistled at Marlowe sharply then and he ran towards them happily. Alfie kept his distance with the cigarette but Marlowe apparently had no worries about those. This was _his_ outside after all; neutral enough to not be scared of the bearded man.

Alfie dropped another treat on the grass and Marlowe was _sold._ Romy laughed out loud at the way he sniffed Alfie’s shoes and trousers afterwards, evidently demanding to get more. 

“He’s such a baby,” she said softly, letting the boys get acquainted. Alfie looked at her, then at Marlowe. _Kind eyes_ , Romy noted again. 

Marlowe put his head, wet nose included, under Alfie’s hand and this is when the man allowed himself to gently pet the dog for the first time.

“Aye, there you are, ya big softie,” Alfie took the last drag of his cigarette and Romy saw him looking around. Not wanting him to make any sudden movements, she gently took the remaining bit from him and put it out herself in the wet grass. Alfie then focused entirely on Marlowe. 

She watched them and a thought crept up on you that perhaps Polly would…

Romy sighed in exasperation at herself and looked up to the sky to silence her own head. _She would throw the lease in your naive little face, is what she would._

The wind was growing stronger and it started to look like rain. Romy decided to ignore it, like most of her current reality. As long as Alfie wouldn’t mind, she wanted to stay outside with both of them as much as possible. 

After an hour or two, thanks to that brilliant decision, all of them returned to the house completely drenched. Also, Romy’s suspicions were entirely correct; she did get mud on herself and some on Alfie, too. Alfie was a champ about the whole thing, though. Never complained once about anything, he just laughed at Romy’s miserable groans as they finally entered the house, spreading mud, grass, and rainwater everywhere.

“Shit, wait! Wait, Marlowe. Sit!” Romy stopped the dog quickly before he would go any further. He was strong and still way too excited to be around his human and so she had some difficulty with keeping him in place. She had to use both hands. “Alfie, grab me that towel?” She pointed towards the old towel that hung by the door. Alfie took off his shoes and handed it to her. 

“Thanks,” she gave him a broad smile, feeling her voice getting a little hoarse. She hoped she hadn’t caught a cold. After she dried Marlowe up and cleaned his paws, he ran excitedly towards the kitchen to check his food bowls. Romy noticed then that the lights were off in the living room but that just meant her mother had probably gone upstairs to either grade papers or work on her publications. She was never social, after all.

“Here,” Alfie helped Romy with her jacket and she thanked him again profusely, before untying her shoes with hands still slightly stiff from the cold. 

It was looking to be a proper storm now; with the sky black as night despite it only being late October afternoon. As Romy locked the door, a thunder roared in the distance.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “Sorry, I think we’re gonna have to wait…”

“Stop sayin’ sorry, woman, you don’t control the weather.” Alfie said and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her towards the kitchen. “Come on, yeah? Now you make me tea, right, and I mope at the table. We gotta shuffle our dynamics.”

“I don’t mope!”

“Aye, you do. Got excellent eyes for it, too. A natural, aintcha.”

She laughed at that and switched the light on in the kitchen. The house was quiet but the record player was still on. It was rotating gently and without a sound.

“You wanna…?” She pointed the record shelves to Alfie and he immediately went in their direction, ready to properly take in the massive collection. Then, he gave Romy another look and tilted his head. 

“You got a little…” He pointed to her cheek and she rubbed the spot. 

“Ah. Mud,” she smirked and went to the sink to wash her face. 

Then, it only took Alfie a minute to choose the album. She chuckled when she heard “We Will Rock You.” _Mud on your face,_ alright. Fair enough.

“That’s an excellent pun, my good sir,” Romy said, as she busied herself with the tea.

“Glad we agree,” Alfie said, obviously very pleased with himself. 

He sat down at the table and Marlowe immediately approached him, expecting to be pet. Sure enough, there was no better person to come for that than Alfie, Romy supposed. He was really good with her dog and she’s honestly never seen Marlowe being so spoiled. He deserved it, though.

“What do you think it meant?” she asked, suddenly wondering about the song.

“Hm?” Alfie looked at her and she pointed towards the record player.

“ _Mud on your face._ ”

“Ah,” Alfie frowned at that. “Don’t really know. Always thought the guy was bullied for bein’ gay or somethin’. Hm. What do you think?”

“Always thought it was something to do with dishonesty. But I’m not sure why…”

She suddenly remembered it was a long walk and thought Marlowe could be hungry. Since she had the opportunity to spoil him a bit more, she opened a can of food for him. He was at her side at once. Romy fed him, reminding him again of being the best dog that ever lived, and then turned around to check on the tea. Deeming it acceptable, she took out two cups from the cupboard. 

The storm outside was in full swing now and the howling wind tried to bend the old oak tree in the garden as hard as it could. She always liked storms and looked outside the window now, a bit lost in her own head again.

“Jealous, were ya?” Alfie asked then and Romy turned around, as if surprised to see him there.

“What?” She shook her head and poured the tea. She gave him one cup and sat down opposite to him.

Bad choice, she realized immediately, because he was looking right at her and she had no way to hide. His eyes were still kind, though, and she noted he was probably just teasing her for turning Marlowe’s attention elsewhere. 

“He was hungry, Alfie,” she said, voice deceptively serious. 

“Hmm…”

“It was a long walk.”

“Ah, yes.”

“He was hungry!”

“He told ya that, did he?”

“Not in so many words, no.”

“Ah, _mud on yer face._ ”

“Don’t use my own metaphors against me!” Romy protested, but couldn’t help smiling at that a little.

Alfie barked out a laugh then and broke the eye contact, looking back at the dog. 

Romy sighed. “I swear, Alfie, you can play with him as much as you like after, I think he likes you now.”

“Yeah, unless ya weren’t jealous of the dog, mate.”

It was her turn to look away then. She felt his eyes on her and didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to argue about it and make it weird so she dropped the subject.

“I’m just messing with ya,” he said and tasted the tea. He winced a little, not hiding it very well. “Oh, fuck me, that’s strong! What the hell...” 

Romy immediately got up to top his cup with hot water. Yeah, she was never great with tea.

“What the fuck do you put in your tea, woman!”

“Gunpowder.”

He snorted and bravely took another sip. “Oh, I believe that, now that…” He shuddered. “Won’t be trusting ya in the kitchen again, fuck’s sake. You need adult supervision!”

“Clearly,” she smirked. “Unless you’re that easy to manipulate into cooking for me.” She tasted the tea then and couldn’t help but grimace at the bitterness herself. “Ugh, no, scratch that. You’re not. It’s bloody awful.” 

Alfie laughed at her as she got up to boil more water.

“Did I manage to scare yer mother off?” he asked then and Romy shook her head quickly.

“No, she’s not very social.” She spoke more freely, now that he wasn’t looking at her so intently. Or maybe he was, she just had her back to him. “She’s probably in her office, grading papers or something. She, uhm… she’s entirely brilliant but very in her own world.”

Alfie hummed at that and before he could comment, Romy said immediately:

“You were incredible with her, by the way.” 

She returned to him now with the kettle and poured more water into the murky mixture nobody in their right mind would dare to call “tea”.

“Told ya, didn’t I?”

“Smug much?” She tried to joke about it but he honestly deserved the praise. Not many people could keep the conversation going with her mother, including her own daughter. Romy put the kettle back and then looked inside the cupboard where she knew her mother kept the biscuits.

“You hungry?” Alfie asked.

“Not really,” she lied. She stood on her tiptoes and heard Alfie snigger behind her.

“Oh, fuck off!” She grabbed a box of digestives and sat back down. Alfie took one from her immediately and she slapped his wrist lightly.

“Hobbit,” he said and devoured the entire biscuit at once.

“You’re not that much taller than me!”

He looked at her, amused, and chewed with a little smirk. “Still taller.”

“Ugh, gross!” She laughed. “Swallow first!”

He smirked and did as she asked, all the while looking her straight in the eye.

“Gross…” she repeated, sipping the bitter tea and trying not to look at his Adam’s apple.

Another thunder roared outside, then followed by bright lightning.

“Shit. We won’t manage to get back, huh?” Romy said, suddenly back to serious.

Alfie sighed and looked out the window. “Not likely, no.”

“Is your car gonna be okay outside?”

He shrugged. “If it rusts, you can pay me back.”

“I thought I didn't control the weather!”

“Aye, your fairies might, though.”

Romy laughed at that and shook her head. “Fine. I’ll pay you. With my Russian money,” she grinned at him. He looked at her then, visibly wanting to say something but finally deciding against it. 

“You can say it,” she sighed, a bit resigned. “But I’m not gonna quit no matter what you say, so just...”

“Why?” he asked, now entirely serious. “And don’t say it’s money because,” he gestured broadly around you.

“Right…” she frowned. “But I like _not_ living here, with my mother. You’ve seen what she’s like.”

Alfie paused for a second. 

“She’s a bit sharp with ya, ain’t she?”

Romy nodded, then shook her head. “Yes. No, I mean I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t want to live with her, though. Not if I can help it. And I like having my own money.”

“Nah, I didn’t mean you should move back in, just… your mother’s a professor.”

“Doesn’t mean she’ll pay for my living,” she tried to sound light but the whole conversation was venturing into an even more personal territory. Then again… Alfie was a man. He was probably used to his independence and most likely didn’t see her point very clearly. Romy decided to be nice about her next thoughts on the subject, since he’s been nothing but kind to her up to this point.

“Listen,” she reasoned, “by the time I was seven, I’d already known my family was different. And snobbish. I know that I’m a privileged white girl—”

“I never said that,” he grumbled.

“But I am. And it’s okay to say that. But I want my own money, my own life. If I fuck up, then I fuck up on my own. But so far, I’ve done pretty well, I think.”

Alfie sighed and rubbed his face. He shook his head and in that moment really reminded her of a dog.

“Okay, one more time: I don’t know yer life, alright?” he said. “What I meant… fuck, I don’t know, but what I heard from the guy that day was fuckin’ terrible. And then you said you’ve heard worse? Now, only thing worse than that fuckin’ bullshit would’ve been a kick in the head, Romy.”

“I… Listen, I know you’re trying to be nice. I appreciate it. But I don’t exactly have any other job offers at the moment, and this one pays my bills. It’s all just business.”

He frowned at her then, evidently having heard the phrase before and associating something with it. She wasn't sure it was a good thing either, judging by his expression.

“I ain’t tryin’ to be _nice_ , I don’t…” Alfie huffed again and shook his head. “Nevermind, forget it. None of my fuckin’ business, innit.”

The silence that fell now was frustrating, especially after having gotten along so well together all this time. Romy really didn’t want to leave everything at that, especially since… Well, because of the storm, they had nowhere to run. Both of them. So she quickly opted for another subject:

“What does ‘Alfie’ stand for?” she asked. If he wanted to go personal, fine. Let’s go personal. After all, he already knew her embarrassing full name.

She also really hoped this wouldn’t be the end of their conversation or the general friendliness that had developed between them throughout the day, because… well, she really enjoyed his company. It would be very hard not to.

Alfie looked at her with a slightly less pronounced glower. She let herself relax a little bit.

“My name?”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to sound casual. 

She hoped he would stop sulking, she really didn’t want to sit with him like that, tense and silent. Occasional streaks of lightning and the rapid pattering of the rain against the old house really didn’t help the mood. 

With Alfie brooding like that, Romy was suddenly very aware of the sounds surrounding them both. The record had ended sometime ago and now it only made soft crackling sounds, turning without the assistance of the stylus. She stood up then and decided to play her favorite album. At least that would take her mind off of things. 

She didn’t expect Alfie to know this one, although she strongly suspected he might. As she returned to the table, she immediately saw the recognition in his eyes.

“Really?” he said, with a slight smirk.

“Ah, you might be a bit young to know this band, Alfie, my boy...” she said, trying to sound serious. That earned her a smile and Romy felt honest to God _relieved._

“Fine,” Alfie said then and at first she didn’t know what he meant by that, but then he added, “It’s… uh, it’s an old name, alright? And I never use it. I don’t really like it, either.”

“I know the feeling…”

“Nah, come on. Yours is just unusual. Mine’s embarrassing.”

“Beg to differ…”

“Trust me, eh?”

“Is it like an old Jewish name or something?”

“Or something, yeah.” He nodded.

“Well… can I guess?” 

Marlowe finished his food then and approached Romy to rest his head on her thigh. She smiled at him, suddenly very happy about the storm. She could spend more time with him, the only problem was that she couldn’t help but wonder if this here wasn’t perhaps at the very bottom of Alfie’s Saturday activities list. She just basically hijacked his entire day…

“Won’t happen,” Alfie said then and leaned back in the chair, somewhat amused at the idea. “But sure.”

“It’s not Abraham, is it?” Romy asked immediately and he laughed at that in earnest.

“Ah, fuck me, no,” he shook his head. “Nah, mate, it’s not, but worse, still.”

“Isaak?”

“Got a book of Hebrew cliches under the table there, do ya?”

She rolled her eyes and reached for her phone then. Alfie clicked his tongue at that and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s all I get, eh? Two main dudes from the Bible intro and a Google search? Nice.”

Romy chuckled at that and put the phone down. She looked around for inspiration and Marlowe, entirely done with her lack of focus, returned to Alfie for some diligent head scritches. 

“Yeah, yeah… look at ‘er, hm? She’s cold, man. Ruthless,” Alfie murmured softly. Marlowe looked at him but then slowly closed his eyes, wagging his tail a bit faster. Romy couldn’t concentrate anymore. She desperately wanted to take Marlowe with her and never part with him again. Watching Alfie now made her think stupid thoughts like… perhaps he could actually talk to Polly and help bring Marlowe to live with them all? 

She shook her head then, silencing the romantic in her again. _Shut up,_ she scolded herself. 

“Uriel!” she exclaimed then, startling both Alfie and Marlowe. 

Alfie laughed at her and ate one more biscuit. “Good effort, but nah.” 

“Worth a shot.” 

Actually, Romy remembered most of the angels from the ‘Supernatural’ tv series but decided against listing them all. She grunted then, ready to give up, and went back to the living room to turn the record over. “I take requests!” she called out to Alfie. 

He said nothing so she opted for the B side. She went back to the kitchen just in time to catch him looking inside the fridge.

“Ah, are you hungry?” she asked. 

“Depends,” Alfie gestured towards the only thing in there resembling food. “Explain?”

It was a bunch of parsley, slightly wilted. It rested on the middle shelf, surrounded by a couple of bottles of wine, a jar with what Romy suspected was probably some dubious chutney gone bad, a small packet of coffee, half a lemon, a half-empty bottle of milk, and two cans of beer.

“Oh, shit!” She grabbed one can immediately before Alfie could say anything. It was her favorite Polish brand and if Alfie wanted to stop her, well then, he would have to pry it out of her cold dead hands. This was the good stuff. He shot her _a look_ and closed the fridge.

“Right, so you could’ve just told me that the only person here that might get fed would be our boy Marlowe…” Alfie opened the freezer then, as Romy happily poured the beer into a tall wine glass. Drinking straight from the bottle was an experience; a can was not the same.

“Who cares, try it! It’s the best.” She offered him the glass, but then retracted her hand, embarrassed. “Ah, I’m sorry. I forgot, I didn’t—”

She cleared her throat. _Shit._ What if he really was in recovery and just keeping it together really well?

Alfie was still crouched by the freezer, looking at her with amusement. “Can ya stop tiptoeing around me, please?”

“Fine,” Romy pressed her lips together, a bit embarrassed. “It’s all mine and you can’t have any.”

She sat back at the table and made a point of trying to enjoy her drink. Beer for dinner was nothing unusual in this house, after all.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He closed the freezer and got up with a groan. “Ever since you met me, right, you’ve been tense as all fuck. Now, granted, I ain’t the easiest on the eyes—”

“That’s not that, though,” she said quietly, a bit too quickly for it to be a completely neutral statement. She noticed his smirk and rolled her eyes. “Calm down. I just mean, it’s not because you’re a big guy with scary tattoos, alright? Just… When I first moved in, Ada told me something… uh, something weird. And I’ve been wondering about it ever since.”

His smile faltered. “Ah, fuck,” Alfie rubbed his face with his hand, groaning a bit. “I knew there was somethin’,” he huffed. “Alright. Spill. What delightful fuckin’ tale did our Ada let out this time?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I mean,” Romy frowned and sipped her beer. “She told me you kept getting into fights and before I moved in, she had to help you get the blood out of your clothes or something like that. So… I was a bit hesitant.” She looked at him now, frowning. “She also mentioned something about serial killers? But I just figured maybe she watches too much true crime. I mean, you’re both not what I expected, that’s for sure. In a good way, though!”

Alfie shook his head, looking up as if asking for some divine intervention. “Bloody hell…”

“So do you?” she dared to ask now, sufficiently encouraged. 

“What? Fight people?” he grinned. “Fuck no. That was one time! Well, I mean, two times, tops. Maybe. She’s exaggerating, right, because of the previous guy that lived with us, he was inappropriate with her. And Ada’s basically like my sister. But believe me, it’s still better I dealt with the creep than her _actual_ brothers, yeah? ‘Cause that bunch, they would’ve made him disappear like in ‘Goodfellas’ or some shit.”

“Mhm,” Romy nodded, entirely unfazed, but still frowning and overthinking.

“I don’t fight people,” Alfie said, softer. “But that explains why you looked so goddamn scared of me all the time.”

“Ah,” she took another sip, then finally looked him in the eye. “Uh, so… you took that personally?”

“Nah, you’re not exactly talkative and that’s your thing, right? But I noticed some other stuff.”

“Like what?” She pursed her lips skeptically.

He gave her a small smile. “You wince a lot. Like you expect people to hit ya or somethin’.”

“Nah, that… That’s anxiety. Mostly. I think.” She squinted at him. “You hit me and I stab you in your sleep, we clear?”

He laughed at that and nodded, cementing the deal. “Yeah, alright, but still. Our last roommate was a guy, right?” Alfie leaned back on the counter, keeping his distance. “Granted, he was a twat but I kinda… It’s not like he had a reason to be scared of me. I mean, he fucked up and I gave him one, right? But then Ada said another girl’s gonna come live with us and well, I took her orders pretty fuckin’ seriously. I was watchin’ myself there, I promise.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Romy said, this time doing her best to convince him. She really wasn’t. He was sweet and has proven himself already with how careful and kind he was with Marlowe. “I tested you that first time on purpose.” The beer loosened her tongue a bit.

“Ah,” Alfie seemed somewhat amused now. “So ya wanted me to snap?”

“I didn’t want you to but thanks for noticing,” she shrugged. “I just gave you the opportunity.”

Alfie barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Clever girl. Alright, since now you know I’m not a bloody axe murderer,” he returned to his adventure with the dreadfully empty freezer. “Aye, what the hell are we even gonna eat… listen, people need fuckin’ food! This is just ice!” He browsed the frozen products, and loudly at that, which made Marlowe approach him now in order to inspect the freezer together. After all, this seemed exciting. There might be something in there for the dog. 

“Marlowe,” Alfie looked at him seriously and Marlowe wagged his tail, “go tell your mother she needs to eat, yeah?”

“Nah, who cares about eating,” Romy giggled at that exchange.

Alfie huffed at her. “Fuck me, how much ice can you fuckin’ need?!”

“Oh, it’s… be careful, she likes to freeze her vodka, it might be in there somewhere, don’t break it.”

“Marlowe, tell your mother she’s an alcoholic.”

“Oi!”

Alfie just laughed at her and shook his head. Finally, he finished his treasure hunting with, granted, lukewarm results, but a very focused look on his face. “Now. I’m gonna cook, alright? And you’re gonna admit this is the legitimate reason why ya like bein’ my roommate.”

“Deal,” she laughed at that, seeing him eyeing the frozen peas and broccoli he had discovered, undoubtedly looking for the expiry date. “Go for it. But you should know, she probably doesn’t have any spices.”

“Fuckin’ hell, this is a nightmare... Where would she keep those? If she had ‘em?”

“Ah,” Romy pointed him towards a drawer. Alright, there were some in there, she noticed, once Alfie opened it. Alongside the broken pens, old electricity bills, and…

“Eh,” Alfie took out one pen to use it to lift up an old woollen sock. He inspected it in the light, honestly losing all hope. Romy giggled at that.

“Listen, you don’t have to cook. Here,” she held out the biscuit box towards him. “I’ll put a record on, you eat those. Maybe I have some chewing gum in my jacket or something,” she grinned and Alfie rolled his eyes. “Oh, unclench! I’m sure the storm will pass.”

But it didn’t. It’s actually gotten worse, they both just never noticed. Alfie had found one of the first editions of Miles Davis’ quintet albums from the sixties and so he was adamant Romy had to listen to this one specific song. Though Romy knew it, she obliged. It was a beautiful piece one way or another. 

They were sitting on the carpet now, with their backs to the record player. Alfie was explaining, gesturing vividly, why the piece had a very unique sound. It was something Romy couldn’t really hear herself but she believed him completely. By now, she had finished both beers and moved on to vodka. She was entirely too mellow to care about anything. Marlowe laid on the carpet between the two of them, getting the best of both worlds in terms of attention and pets. 

Life, Romy decided, had its moments.

“I can hear you thinking,” she said to Alfie after the album ended. She still had her eyes closed, though, not really wanting to leave the peaceful moment.

“Yeah, ‘course you can,” Alfie chuckled.

She opened one eye and saw him smiling at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yeah, ‘cause of yer secret dealings with fairies, innit?”

She closed her eyes again and huffed. “No, I can hear you thinking… about the damn peas.” Her voice was slower now, more content. “You left them there to defrost on purpose. So… you still want to try to make something and let me tell you now: my mother doesn’t cook.” She smirked. “I know, because I don’t cook. You think salt doesn’t expire? Well, in this house it bloody does.”

Alfie chuckled at that and Romy’s smile grew wider.

“Alright,” he said then and clicked his tongue, “get up, Fairy Princess. You’re gonna be hungry in about ten minutes, I’m cuttin’ ya off.” He took the glass from Romy and helped her up, grabbing her by the forearm like before. She sighed, but let him lead her back to the kitchen. 

She sat at the table, observing as Alfie really tried to overcome the limitations of her family’s lack of culinary traditions. It was admirable, for a moment, but then she could also see it became a matter of ambition as well.

“Just put them back in the freezer,” she said.

“No.” He found a pot and a pan and now debated on something with himself, holding an ancient bottle of olive oil to light.

“It’s probably from the nineties,” Romy remarked. She was actually very ready to go to sleep now but Alfie was honestly too entertaining to pass on observing.

“Alright, you shush.” He finally decided against the olive oil but found some spices (in the medicine cabinet of all places) that might have still been of some use. Romy knew, though, that the total misery would await him in the cutlery drawer. As expected, the state of her mother’s knives nearly destroyed his very soul.

“Alfie…”

“No.” 

She chuckled at that, entirely amused by his determination. It wasn’t even about her having had a few drinks at this point, this has just been an excuse. He liked the challenge of creating something from nothing, she realized, and so she let him have his fun. Besides, she never got to actually watch him cook before and observing a professional at work was always exciting.

Somehow, Alfie managed to make that disaster of a kitchen work to his advantage and from an absolutely hopeless situation, he ended up making a really tasty soup. He still watched Romy dubiously as she ate it, though, taking only a bite here and there himself. 

“What?” she finally asked. “Did you poison it or something?”

“Nah,” he smirked. “But I was kinda wondering if that sock wouldn’t bring out more flavor than the ancient spices.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “It’s good!”

Still feeling his eyes on her, she kicked him lightly under the table. “Fuckin’ what!” She laughed nervously. “It’s not my fault I like it, stop staring!”

“Oh, something smells nice,” she heard her mother’s voice then and nearly had a heart attack. Romy and Alfie both turned towards the entrance to the kitchen. Rowan was wearing a bathrobe and her eyes, Romy realized, were entirely preoccupied with something that was going on in her own mind. 

“Here,” Alfie stood up before Romy could, and poured a generous bowl for her mother. She sat down, mumbling something absent-mindedly and began to eat without any hesitation. Romy watched her for a minute before she went back to her own food. She couldn’t help it; being her caretaker was something that had imprinted onto every fiber of her personality by now.

“I think the storm is getting stronger,” Romy said quietly. Alfie looked at her but said nothing. To Romy’s surprise, her mother hummed and suggested:

“Well, the couch in the living room unfolds. And you can sleep in my study.” That last bit was directed at Romy, she realized, now dreading the implication a little bit. The study used to be hers and Miles’ room. She had no desire to stay the night there.

After very limited conversation on her part, Romy’s mother went upstairs to retire, having thanked Alfie for the meal entirely too little for Romy’s taste. She took up the washing up again and, after there were just the two of them left, Alfie stood up to help. He took each clean dish from Romy and dried it with a cloth before setting it aside. They were much faster as a team but for some reason Romy wanted this whole thing to last a bit longer. She didn’t want to go to the study and face the memories. 

“I… I’ll get you some clean sheets,” she muttered. It was only around eight in the evening and she didn’t suspect any of them to fall asleep anytime soon; nevertheless, she had to do something with herself. She returned to the living room after a good minute, with the pillows and a blanket, and saw that Alfie had managed to unfold the couch for himself. It was a three-seater so he should be comfortable; especially since he seemed to have found another record he liked. It filled up the living room with soft rock beats from the seventies.

“Here,” Romy said and gave him the pillows. “I, uh… Oh, you found them.” Turns out the bed sheets were still there in the storage space under the couch seats. Alfie should be all set then.

“Thanks,” he accepted them with a small smile and started to make his bed. Romy noticed Marlowe there, watching the man closely but without any anxiety she might have suspected of him. He was curious and very accepting of Alfie now; an entirely rare sight considering the dog’s personality.

“I… feel like I wasted your weekend a little bit,” Romy said then, deciding to just come out with it. 

Alfie looked at her over his shoulder and huffed. “You didn’t, alright? It was nice.”

Not entirely convinced, she just nodded. “Well… It really was,” she agreed. “Goodnight. Axe Murderer.”

He chuckled at her official tone and nodded. “Aye, goodnight, Your Highness.”

Romy rolled her eyes at yet another fairy reference and went upstairs. Marlowe followed her and waited patiently until she finished her nightly routine in the bathroom, then walked behind her to her mother’s study. There was a small single bed in the corner there, with the same green duvet Romy remembered from her childhood. 

The biggest part of the room was taken up by the desk and the bookshelves, as well as countless papers, newspapers, books and publications that littered the floor, the shelves, and the nightstand. Rowan’s diplomas hung above the bed, making the room as devoid of any personal touch as possible. The only trace of Romy and Miles having ever existed was a single picture in a silver frame, standing at the very back of your mother’s desk. They must have been ten or twelve in it; Miles was pulling his sister’s hair and she was laughing, presenting a gap in her front teeth. 

Romy looked at the picture for the longest time, unable to sleep. Her mind was racing, as she took in the room and the changes her mother had managed along the years. Marlowe laid down near the bed, resting in between the papers and the crazy scientist madness of it all, as Romy felt the influence of the alcohol evaporate from her body, replacing the previously acquired relaxation with a surge of anxiety. She laid like that for a while, memories of her brother surrounding her from every corner like ghosts. Then, she felt a headache approaching and huffed, entirely done with herself. 

She put on her mother’s enormous cardigan that hung over the nearby chair and slowly, barefoot, made her way downstairs to get a glass of water. She had to pass through the living room and so glanced towards the couch, checking if Alfie was asleep. He wasn’t; but well, what did she expect from a grownass man at nine in the evening?

“Hey,” he said then, arms under his head. Before Romy could say anything, Marlowe trotted happily towards the couch and jumped on the makeshift bed, wagging his tail. “Aye, come ‘ere, ya gorgeous boy, hey! Come ‘ere…” Alfie greeted Marlowe enthusiastically and so Romy just chuckled and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Considering all the vodka sodas, she finally had two.

“Alright there, Your Highness?” Alfie said, startling her a bit in the dark. The storm had subsided but it was still raining and the old house kept making spooky, creaking noises. 

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep,” she said. 

Alfie was scratching Marlowe behind the ears and the dog got entirely too comfortable next to the man. Smiling at that, Romy sat down at the edge of the sleeping area, holding her third glass of water carefully. 

“So,” Alfie said, “was your interest in fairies piqued by that Goblin King Bowie movie or did ya manage to get that idea entirely on your own?”

She smiled at that and shook her head. “Ah, I don’t remember.” 

“Or ya just won’t tell me because of yer crush.”

“Shut up! Bowie’s a gorgeous man, alright?” 

“Aye, _was._ ”

“Forever is, in my heart.”

“Like Princess Di or somethin’? Sheesh.”

Romy giggled and sat back a bit, though still on the covers. She tried not to look at Alfie but saw from the corner of her eye that he was very much looking at her. She finally dared a peek and couldn’t help but giggle a bit, seeing Marlowe on his back and wagging his tail slowly. 

“Ah, look at him… I’ve never seen him like that with strangers.”

“We’re not strangers now.” Alfie smiled to himself. “But uh, thanks for letting me meet him.”

“You’re welcome,” Romy said softly. “And… It was a nice Saturday, okay?”

“Fuckin’ hell, whatever will I do with all this affection…”

“Shut up,” she murmured and busied herself with drinking as much water as possible.

“Thirsty, are we?” Alfie smirked a bit at the sight and Romy just rolled her eyes, though entirely certain he couldn’t really have seen that.

“Nah, you should’ve seen me during uni days. I was a hazard.”

“Oh, I can imagine, yeah.” He pulled himself up a bit more to sit down and face her. Alfie’s sweater and trousers were on the floor and since he had a t-shirt on, Romy could see all the veins on his forearms and the toned muscles.

Alright, she wasn't exactly honest with him before. He definitely _was_ a scary guy with tattoos, yes, she thought that. It’s just that… she never really expected him to be so much more than that, too.

“What’d ya study?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She reached now towards Marlowe, stroking his belly softly. He was laying between them again, basking in attention.

“Romance studies. I really thought I was going to be a translator. Or a live interpreter like Nicole Kidman in that movie.”

Alfie hummed at that and nodded. “Ah, very cool. So were ya?”

“No. It’s a hard market to crack,” she said quietly. “So I went corporate.”

At the back of her head, she had this incessant nagging to say goodnight (again) and go back upstairs, pretend to sleep, be sad, think of Miles, and toss and turn all night. But… Alfie wasn’t exactly telling her to fuck off, now was he?

“I never took my final exams,” she said. “Because of what happened to Miles.”

Alfie frowned and stayed quiet, with the lingering feeling of that thought ending in something awful.

“I was the one who found him. My final year of university, I went to visit him in London, and he… he was, uh... He died.” Romy took a few more sips of water, entirely unsure how to proceed after that sentence. _Oh, what the fuck._ Should’ve gone back upstairs when she had the chance. “It was, uh… It was heroin overdose.”

To her utter surprise, Alfie shuffled a bit closer and tentatively took her hand in his. She didn’t move away, which perhaps surprised her even more. She closed her eyes, letting him comfort her for a bit and subsequently letting herself be weak for a minute or two.

“Ah, what the fuck,” she said. “I’m sorry… It’s just hard for me to be here, because, uh... Her study used to be our room. He… She’d wiped him out of existence. There’s nothing of his in this house anymore, just… Just his ghost. And these weird fuckin’ noises at night.” She cleared her throat. “ You know, when we were little, he’d tell me witches lived in this house?” She smiled a bit, reliving the good part of the memories, “And, he would try to scare me, telling me that they’d come out at night, from the cellar. And if we didn’t fall asleep fast enough, they’d come upstairs and eat us.”

She heard Alfie chuckle at that in the dark and he squeezed her hand tighter. Romy finished her water and set the empty glass on the nearby coffee table. She didn’t want him to let go for some reason so she proceeded with everything carefully like a surgeon. 

“Yeah, I believe that, mate, yeah,” Alfie said then. “The wind’s honestly makin’ this place sing some creepy songs.”

“I know.” She sighed and leaned back a little, wrapping herself up tighter in the cardigan, but refusing to let go of his hand all the same. It was warm and anchored her back to the real world; made her feel the difference between the sadness and reality.

“So, Miles…” Alfie said softly.

She groaned but squeezed his hand tighter and closed her eyes. “I didn’t tell you and Ada that day because—”

“Because it’s none of our damn business.” Alfie shuffled a bit closer towards her and she opened one eye, noticing him watching her. She smirked a bit at that.

“Fine. But still… This is why I got that tattoo.”

“Yeah, I mean… Twins, right? Must’ve been fuckin’ awful to be the one to find him.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “But the worst part was drifting apart for years, I mean before that happened. We used to be inseparable. And now I’m just alone.”

This time, Alfie squeezed her hand tighter. They were both cutting off their respective blood circulation now and why the fuck was that the most comforting thing Romy has felt in years, she had no idea.

“My mother named him after Miles Davis, obviously,” she muttered.

“I figured,” Alfie said. He wouldn’t let go, she noticed, and so she did that first, before he could. 

“And my father named me after his aunt or some boring shit like that,” she murmured, shifting a bit to lay on her side and face him. Alfie smiled softly and did the same, with Marlowe still between them.

“So... where did you study?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“All over, yeah,” he said, still looking straight at her. “Started working as a kitchen help when I was fourteen or somethin’. Worked there until I was eighteen, got the chef’s recommendation, then, uh, managed to get a place at a proper school. Finished that, moved to Paris, worked there for a couple of years… And no,” he gave her a stern look. “I don’t speak French, Miss University, alright, don’t even try it.”

She grinned at him. “Actually, my major was Italian.”

“Oh, great,” he groaned. “What a relief. Fuckin’ hell, you’re so bloody fancy...”

She laughed at that and gave him a slight nudge. “Alright, and then? London, Paris… Vienna?”

“Bangkok,” he said. “A friend had a gig ready, so I packed my shit and moved there for a year. Good experience, great people. Insane working conditions…”

“Jesus Christ, I went on Erasmus for a year and felt fuckin’ original, meanwhile you’ve traveled all over and call _me_ fancy!”

Alfie chuckled softly and stroked Marlowe’s neck gently. The dog was already asleep, shaking his paw from time to time in reaction to his dream. “Yeah, I mean… my job’s different, I guess,” Alfie cleared his throat.

Romy stayed quiet after that but somehow felt like he wanted her to ask him more questions. Those weren’t her thing, but she decided to go against the instincts for once:

“So why did you come back?”

“I didn’t,” he huffed and shifted a bit. “Not at first, yeah. After my visa ended, I applied for a job in New York and got in on a first try. So I moved there. And that’s where I met Ada.”

 _Ah._ Romy was even more curious now.

“What was she doing in New York?” she asked.

“Finishing up some idiotic business for Tommy. But, yeah, it was love at first sight. We became friends overnight, man, it was insane. So after New York, we got back to London together.”

Romy smiled at that brightly.

“Yeah, she’s my golden girl. I, uh, I used to drink way too much back then.” Alfie cleared his throat. “Used to own a pub, too, which… Not the best idea. She, uh, helped me. With that. Convinced her brother to buy it from me. Then she told me to move in with her, found me this really crazy therapist, the guy was honestly insane. He told me to keep a diary and shit like that.”

“Oh God…” Romy groaned.

“Yeah, I’m not entirely sure he was real. Sounds like one of Ada’s schemes, lemme tell ya.” Alfie smiled to himself. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was just Ada but in a wig and with a fake mustache.”

Romy giggled at that, already picturing it.

“Yeah, she’s the best, honestly.” Alfie scratched his beard and looked at Marlowe, who was now snoring slightly. “She took care of me, let me take care of her, which… I really needed. Since my dog died a couple years before.” 

_Jesus._

“Holy shit, that’s awful, Alfie…” Romy said quietly, nearly whispering. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” Alfie shifted and shared the blanket with her, and Marlowe in the process, seeing as Romy was closing her eyes more and more. “But Ada’s, she’s like… this bright, magnetic force, what can I say, mate. Got me through it. She even got me the job I have now — head chef, no less...”

“Oh, look who’s fancy now.” 

He chuckled. “Can’t get over it, I see… Don’t worry, Your Highness, Ada’s fancier.”

“Ah, Ada’s cool though,” Romy muttered and yawned, now turning on her back. She really should go back upstairs soon… but decided to close her eyes once more, just for a bit. Alfie said something but she couldn’t really focus anymore. This has been exactly what she needed to forget her intrusive thoughts. She fell asleep then, without even thinking about it.

Morning came entirely too fast. Romy noticed, because of the headache and the pain in her neck. She woke up and noticed she was still there, on the couch in the living room, covered up with a blanket together with Alfie and the dog in between them. She sat up and looked around, suddenly alarmed that she fell asleep like this.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Romy got up as quietly as possible and went upstairs to the bathroom, to at least freshen up and get dressed. She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to brush her teeth with her finger and a bit of toothpaste, which did absolutely nothing but at least made her feel like a person. 

She got dressed and went back downstairs, praying for Alfie to be awake. Sure enough, she found him putting the couch back together. Marlowe greeted her as she approached them, and her heart broke a little in advance. They would have to get back soon, she realized, and she would leave him all over again. 

“Morning,” Romy said, trying to sound as light as possible. 

“Hi,” Alfie greeted her.

She honestly hoped she hadn’t made things weird between them, what with her last night’s confessions and everything. It didn’t seem that way, though. Alfie was still his normal self, at least she never noticed any tension on his part.

“Listen, uh… my mother usually likes to sleep in, and I don’t suppose she has anything for breakfast except coffee—”

“Aye, don’t even think about it,” Alfie stopped her right there and ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. “I’ll make the coffee, alright? You had your chance with the tea, mate, blew it entirely.”

Romy laughed at that and shook her head. “Yeah, couldn’t guess your name either. But! I got a bit drunk, so there’s that.”

“Aye, we all know that’s a challenge,” he teased and went into the kitchen. She walked behind him and Marlowe followed. She pointed Alfie towards the ancient stove top espresso maker and busied herself with feeding the dog, while Alfie debated with himself on the freshness of the milk that he got from the fridge.

“Ah, just taste it,” Romy shrugged. “If it’s bad, you’ll know.”

He shot her a _look_ and she chuckled, taking the bottle from him. “Wuss.” She took a swig and swallowed. “Hmm… _Chunky_.”

Alfie looked positively horrified and she just laughed. 

“I’m joking! Jesus, it’s good. Relax.” She licked her lips and gave it back to him. 

She sat at the table to look out the window. It was an entirely different picture than the night before; still a bit cloudy but the air looked crispy and fresh.

“What the hell are you even, woman...” Alfie muttered as he prepared the coffee. She hummed at that, nursing her slight headache in silence and observing the outside. 

Romy didn’t really get hangovers anymore and the ones that did happen were entirely manageable. It was probably because she had a habit now, she supposed. But she had it under control for now, or so she kept telling herself.

Later, they drank their coffee and Alfie talked for the both of them. At the back of her head, Romy was preparing for a heartbreak and somehow she knew that Alfie sensed it, too. Finally, it was time to leave and so Romy just left her mother a note on the kitchen table and then hugged Marlowe goodbye for as long as she could without starting to cry.

As both her and Alfie made their way towards the car, Romy wanted to say something that would convey the entirety of her feelings about the past twenty-four hours, but suddenly no words would do. She just glanced at Alfie now and again, and said nothing.

He was the one to speak again, as they both got into the car and fastened their seatbelts:

“Alright,” he said. “Let ya torture me with Wishbone Ash last night, mate, now the shotgun doesn’t make any requests, don’t think I’m gettin’ soft,” he grumbled before he leaned towards the woman and opened the glove compartment in search of a cassette. 

She laughed at that because firstly, everything was still normal between them and she was relieved. And secondly, he had so much junk in there that it looked like an honest to God time capsule. Cassettes, mismatched gloves, pieces of guitar strings, binoculars, a bandana, old batteries, a couple of polaroids, foreign coins, all of that fell into her lap and she couldn’t help but to laugh at it all.

“Aye, need to sort it out eventually…”

“Nah, whatever for? Looks perfectly organized,” Romy teased and Alfie just gave her _a look._

She giggled even more and let Alfie clean up, honestly enjoying this pause before their eventual return to London. Only then did she remember that she actually had a phone still and so decided to check her messages. She froze for a second, as Alfie fidgeted with the cassette he wanted to play. Romy had about twenty unread messages on Instagram. All of them from one account. She tapped the application and then the message centre icon, entirely panicked.

 **12:10 PM Adafnshelby:** _alright, kids! Send me some pictures of the doggo, yeah?_

 **1:01 PM Adafnshelby:** _Romy, please tell me Alfie drove like a normal fucking person…_

 **1:03 PM Adafnshelby:** _Hello?? Were you in an accident??_

 **1:14 PM Adafnshelby:** _ROMY!!!_

 **2:45 PM Adafnshelby:** _Oh fuck_

 **2:46 PM Adafnshelby:** _ARE YOU ALIVE???_

 **3:05 PM Adafnshelby:** _Jesus CHRIST_

 **3:09 PM Adafnshelby:** _Answer your goddamn PHONE_

 **4:22 PM Adafnshelby:** _Are you guys okay?????_

 **4:23 PM Adafnshelby:** _I’m checking the news._

 **4:29 PM Adafnshelby:** _Fuck’s sake both of you_

 **5:15 PM Adafnshelby:** _I’M CHANGING THE LOCKS YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE_

 **5:21 PM Adafnshelby:** _Okay did your dog like Alfie at least?????_

 **5:34 PM Adafnshelby:** _HELLooooOOO?_

 **6:00 PM Adafnshelby:** _Oh fuck you guys_

 **6:03 PM Adafnshelby:** _Oh my goddddd I just saw the weather forecast, what the helllll is going on in Luton!!!!_

 **6:26 PM Adafnshelby:** _Are you staying the night?!_

 **6:27 PM Adafnshelby:** _ROMY!!!!_

 **6:31 PM Adafnshelby:** _Oh you better stay the night, what the fuck, that piece of junk can’t drive in this weather_

 **6:31 PM Adafnshelby:** _And his car might not take it well, either_

 **7:06 PM Adafnshelby:** _JESUS what the hell you guys_

 **7:11 PM Adafnshelby:** _Oh fuck off, just get home safe. GOODNIGHT!_

Romy chuckled at her phone and Alfie gave her a quizzical look. She couldn’t help but feel bad, though, too. Next time, Ada definitely must come along. Romy cleared her throat and showed Alfie the messages. He skimmed through them and shook his head.

“Ah. Yeah. Might want to stop by Tesco first, they have that wine Ada likes…”

Romy smiled and put the phone back in her jacket pocket. The bastard was playing Bowie for her, after all. Alright, then. It seemed that all was well between them and nobody made it weird. 

After all, they were roommates.


	3. All the Bloody Cooking

Ada managed to forgive the two for the lack of communication. Romy had already explained the storm, then shoved the two bottles of expensive wine in Ada’s face, and Alfie promised to cook dinner for her. Well, there was enough for all three of them but he made a point of showing it was all for Ada — she was a big fan of seafood, so while Romy was entrusted with the wine selection back at the supermarket, Alfie decided on the mussels.

As expected, Ada was not entirely convinced at first with just the wine — that is, until Alfie placed the paper bag he had been guarding with his life up to this point, and she took a peek inside.

“Oh, shit!” Ada squealed and hugged him from behind, as he washed his hands in the sink.

“Yeah, yeah… Listen, ow! Ada. Shit, get off, eh?”

“Ah, sorry. Does it hurt again?” She rubbed her hand across his back and Alfie winced.

“Yeah, it’s fucked. Don’t.” 

Romy frowned upon seeing that, as she was putting the wine in the fridge. She said nothing, though, because that was the first time she had even seen Alfie complain about his back, so she didn’t want to make a big deal out of this for the guy. Though, if he had back problems, why didn’t he say anything?  _ Ah, shit.  _ The Ikea couch must have fucked him up...

“Alfie, I have some painkillers if you want,” Romy said to him but he shook his head.

“Nah, I’ll be alright.”

“You sure?” Romy smirked. “They’re Ukrainian, full of codeine. At least I think it’s codeine...”

“Nah, come on.” He gestured towards the bag. “Help me clean those.”

“I…” She passed him the bag then and he carefully placed the mussels in the sink. “How?”

He chuckled at Romy’s bewilderment and showed her the correct way, while Ada took out one of the wines that had just been placed in the fridge to chill. She opened it with a loud pop of the cork and Romy turned towards her. 

“Ada, it’s still warm,” she whined. 

“Ayy, but that’s what ice is for, darling!” Ada winked at her and took out two glasses from the cupboard.

Romy shook her head but smiled at that a little bit. She went back to observing Alfie, as he cleaned the mussels. She tried to copy him exactly, as if handling explosives and not seafood. He looked very amused at her caution but still, she paid him no mind. She knew very well she was a disaster in the kitchen and so since this was all for Ada, she would take no chances. 

Finally, Alfie took out a big pot and started the sauce, and so Romy felt dismissed, thank goodness. She sat at the table next to Ada and tasted the wine. Ada clinked her glass with Romy’s then and smiled at her, bright as sunshine. The distinct, delicious smell of garlic, lemon, and white wine permeated the entire apartment. Romy decided then that this weekend was definitely one of the best ones she has had in a while.

“So,” Ada said, “was he reasonable or did he work his dog magic and your relationship with Marlowe is unsalvageable now?”

Romy laughed at that and shook her head. “Pretty much. He just fell in love with Alfie. And my heart broke a little bit when I had to leave.”

That was entirely too much, she realized. Entirely too much than she was prepared to share, even with Alfie busy at the stove, pretending not to listen.

“I mean,” Ada said then, “I don’t... hate dogs. And you seem like a responsible owner. I think we could ask Pol—”

“No,” Romy said quickly. “It’s okay. He needs stability now. I can’t just move him around from place to place all the time.”

“Are you sure?” Ada, Romy noticed, wasn’t as easily persuaded as Aflie. 

“I’m sure,” she lied smoothly.

Alfie joined them at the table then, with a cup of tea he had produced out of nowhere.

“Don’t pester her, that’s my thing,” he said to Ada.

She huffed. “Oh, sure! Got your own thing now, I see?”

Romy and Alfie exchanged looks, which didn’t help Ada’s annoyance in the slightest.

“Uh, not sure,” Romy said and sipped her wine, while Alfie got up to check on the pot.

“Come on, I was joking,” Ada said then, pouting just a little.

“I was actually going to say I’d like you to come with, you know, next time,” Romy said, doing her best to alleviate Ada’s green-eyed monster.

“Ah, cool! By the way, I’m not mad, I just had the worst Saturday.” Ada sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. “I was actually out helping my friend, she is setting up her gallery in Brixton… But Jesus fuckin’ Christ, art people can be so obnoxious!” She pursed her lips. “Uh, no offence.”

“I’m not art people,” Romy smirked. “You’re good.”

“I mean… I showed one of the girls your instagram, she really liked it! You  _ could be _ art people _ ,  _ just leave that crazy Russian mafia of yours! They don’t even have an office here, that’s fuckin’ suspicious, right?”

Romy downed the rest of her glass, now a bit self-conscious. She said nothing. Ada gave her a strange look but didn’t comment otherwise.

“Aye, she has dealings with fairies, that one, wouldn’t be too surprised if she works for the mafia, too,” Alfie said then, sitting back down with them. Apparently, the mussels were good to sit on their own now.

“What?” Ada frowned.

“It’s a, uh… I told Alfie this story, there was this old tree in my backyard—”

“Oh my God!” Ada exclaimed. “I’m tired of the inside banter. You’re both so fuckin’ cute and mysterious, I can’t stand it! Next time, don’t you dare leave me here!”

Romy shook her head quickly. “I promise, you’re coming with.” 

“Damn right!” Ada said, but then changed her mood entirely again and grinned at Alfie. “So, how was the mother? Did she love ya?”

“Yeah,” Alfie outstretched his arms, shooting Ada a triumphant look. “Told ya. A bloody gift, eh?”

Romy shook her head and stood up to pour her and Ada more wine.

“Alright, but no more sleepovers without me! I was so fucking bored, I almost texted my ex.”

“Ah, fuck, Ada… Which one?” Alfie ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier.

“Oh, fuck off! You  _ know  _ which one.”

“But not Jessie?” Alfie groaned.

“Yes, Jessie! But I didn’t, okay? So we’re good. Oh, thank you, darling,” Ada accepted the refill gladly and took two large sips before she spoke again, “so, as I was fuckin’ saying, you can’t leave me alone. I’m lonely and I’m fragile!”

“Don’t worry,” Romy said. “Next time, I’ll confiscate your phone.”

“Aye, Ada, and we stayed the night with the mother present and the dog as chaperone, it wasn’t exactly Burning Man you missed, eh? I was a good fuckin’ boy, alright?”

Romy blushed for no reason at that. Ada looked between the two and huffed, unsatisfied. “All in one bed? Sounds like Burning Man to me...”

Romy cleared her throat but Alfie just innocently sipped his tea, paying her no mind. 

_ Fuck’s sake.  _

“Well, Grace called,” Ada said somberly. “Speaking of shitty parties, I mean. She invited me, the bitch.”

“But not me, then?” Alfie grinned.

“You’re my date, shut the fuck up! I’m not going there alone, she can suck it.”

“Fine,” Alfie grumbled, pretending to be annoyed. “But I ain’t wearin’ a shirt.”

“Nobody’s expecting you to.”

* * *

After that weekend, work didn’t even manage to start to bother Romy up until next week. Unfortunately, her luck seemed to have ran out by then, as she woke up in pain and with a headache, and then noticed a bloody stain on her sheets. Groaning, she looked at her phone and begrudgingly noticed it was only six in the morning. She managed to find a pad, then stumbled into the kitchen and took out a pot as quietly as possible. She waited for the water to boil, observing the diva cup at the bottom of it, trying to disinfect it quickly and just be done with it. Finally, deciding that the pain has become unbearable, she went back to her room to find the painkillers. Nobody in the apartment should have been awake, so she was most likely safe to do as she pleased.

As she walked back to the kitchen, however, she saw Alfie there. He was apparently making himself a cup of tea and eyeing the pot with a curious expression.

“Aye, good mornin’,” he said, voice low and raspy. 

“Morning,” she said quietly, looking at the pot, mortified. “Uh, I’m—”

“Yeah, was wonderin’ who was cooking at this hour, right,” he said, and now Romy noticed he was smiling a little bit to himself as he put the kettle on. 

“I will wash that,” she pointed to the pot, trying to stand between him and it now. 

Alfie snorted a bit and shook his head. “Yeah, calm down. Tea?”

Romy shrugged but then nodded. 

“Alright,” he said softly. “Didn’t know they came in different colors, those,” he said with enthusiasm, pointing at the cup again. 

Bright red in the face now, Romy turned off the gas and took the pot to the sink to pour out the boiling water. “Excuse me,” she huffed, taking the cup in the paper towel and marching briskly to the bathroom.

When she came back to the kitchen, Alfie was still there, drinking his tea from the red mug and reading a book. Romy noticed the paper cover was nearly entirely faded and the spine of the book cracked all to hell. She wondered about the title but honestly couldn’t make it out.

“Here,” Alfie pointed with the book to the kitchen counter. On it stood Romy’s Venom mug with what looked like camomile tea in it. 

She grabbed it and sat down at the table next to Alfie, groaning a little bit, still in pain. “Thank you,” she said and sighed. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, gotta go to work. Got the fucked up shift today,” he said and went back to reading. Romy nodded at that and took out her phone to check the time again. Still too early to even get up for work, but she was paranoid she’d be late, nonetheless. 

She waited for the tea to cool down and for the meds to kick in, while Alfie read. The only sound that broke their silence from time to time was him turning the pages. Romy closed her eyes, as she felt another wave of pain hit her and she winced.  _ What a fuckin’ nightmare… _

“Right, can I read that part to ya?” Alfie said, pulling her out of her thoughts again. “Look, you’re gonna enjoy it. These people are acting like bloody idiots throughout the entire thing…”

He started to read the paragraph and Romy opened her eyes, frowning. She noticed after a couple of sentences that it was  _ Pride and Prejudice _ that he was reading.

“Jane Austen?” she asked then. “Really?”

Alfie smirked. “Got something against Jane Austen, mate?”

“Oh, no. Just…”

“Aye, stop gatekeeping, woman. Listen to this now…”

He read a bit more then and Romy laughed at it from time to time, because hearing Jane bloody Austen’s narration in Alfie’s distinctive accent was an experience in itself. Finally, the pain subsided and the tea cooled down enough to be drinkable. Alfie kept reading and Romy relaxed more and more, until she forgot about her upcoming shift entirely. Then, her phone buzzed and she nearly jumped once it did. She turned off the alarm with a huff and got up, noticing she only had half an hour now left before she’d have to log in for her shift. 

“Well, you can set up in the kitchen if ya want,” Alfie said and got up with a groan. He took his book with him, and the red mug, but Romy noticed he was still in his pajamas and obviously going back to his room.

“Alfie?” she asked, now a bit suspicious.

“Yeah?” He looked at her seriously but still with a hint of a smile lingering somewhere at the corners of his mouth.

“You do have a shift, right?”

“‘Course I do, yeah. Why?”

“You didn’t just get up to read me Jane Austen because I woke you up?”

“Now, mate, why would I do some crazy shit like that?”

Romy honestly didn’t want to think about the answer. 

“Thank you,” she said then and, not really wanting to wait for his reaction, she quickly went back to her room to set up for the next dreadful eight-to-ten hours of torture.

* * *

On Saturday, the main boiler in the apartment broke. At first, Romy didn’t realize because the dream she was having kind of explained it for her, at least somewhere in the background. In the dream, she was standing in a pile of snow in the middle of Siberia, shouting towards a dark figure in the distance to stop running away and give back her blanket. She woke up freezing and it became apparent then that the temperature in her dream and one in the apartment matched each other perfectly.

According to Ada, the boiler was prone to malfunction from time to time, although nobody really knew why. The only one who knew how to fix it was Ada’s eldest brother, Arthur, who after a frantic call from his sister promised to come by and take a look before Grace’s birthday party. Ada and Alfie had left early, since Ada refused to be late to the thing, which left Romy expecting Arthur anytime between then or now, freezing in the meantime. As soon as her roommates went to the party, though, Romy sat down in the living room with a blanket and a beer, ready to put on  _ Casablanca _ and mope a little bit. Right after the opening credits, however, her phone rang.

“Uh, hello?” she answered, even though caller ID obviously existed and there was no surprise as to who exactly called her. When it came to Romy’s moods, her friend Linda possessed an unquestioned sixth sense that she put to good use when needed. 

“Hey! I just finished at Seven Sisters, want to grab a cup of coffee with me?” Linda said cheerfully on the other end of the line. Seven Sisters would mean her church charity work, which she always volunteered for at the weekends. Romy loved her friend for that; personally she had no energy to take care of her own wellbeing, let alone the impoverished.

“Uh…” Romy tried to move as far away from the tv as possible, but unfortunately — her friend was no fool. 

“Oh, motherfucker! You’re watching it again, aren’t you?”

Romy smiled to herself. The only word Linda never uttered was the Lord’s name in vain. The rest of her vocabulary, however, could put Alfie to shame. 

“Of course not. It’s just the commercial,” Romy paused the movie and, wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito, went to the kitchen, as if Linda could see her tv telepathically. 

“I don’t believe you. Well, anyway,” Linda paused for a second and Romy overheard some noise. She realized Linda must have entered the underground station. “I’m three stations away from you, text me your apartment number. Let’s see that new place, shall we?”

Romy obliged, having nothing else to do. After less than half an hour, Linda knocked on the door.

“Do you know your building door is broken!” she exclaimed, as soon as she went through the door.

“Ah,” Romy took Linda’s coat and, a little bit surprised, the grocery bag. Linda apparently decided her friend had had nothing to eat since they last saw each other, which… True. For the past few weeks, Romy has mostly been eating frozen pizza and yogurt. Sometimes Alfie would cook and share, too, for which she was eternally grateful.

“Goodness, it’s cold in here!” Linda rubbed her arms.

“Yeah, I know… the boiler broke, Ada’s brother is going to take a look at it later,” Romy explained. “I, uh… wow, thank you. For the groceries.”

“You’re welcome, darling!” Linda smiled, knowing she’d done a good deed. “Ah, well, this is nice, anyway,” she decided, as she took off the high heels and looked around the apartment. “Very spacious!”

Linda’s skirt twirled around her as she did that. Romy decided in her head that Linda very much resembled an actress from an old movie. She stepped into the kitchen and carefully unpacked the groceries, letting Linda take a look at everything.

“Tea?” Romy offered and Linda hesitated. 

“Uh, maybe later!”

Romy chuckled. Yeah, her tea brewing skills were unparalleled.

“So tell me about the roommates,” Linda entered the kitchen. “Are they nice?”

“Oh, they’re nice,” Romy said enthusiastically. Entirely unfamiliar with seeing that in her friend, Linda was curious.

“Really?” she asked incredulously and moved towards the kettle to take care of the tea herself.

Romy shrugged. “Yeah. They’re really nice. Very cool people. Nothing like the creeps from Camden.”

“That’s not a challenge,” Linda scoffed and took out two mugs from the cupboard. She got the right cupboard on the first try, too, Romy noticed. It was a gift. Except...

“Ah, no. Not that one.” She carefully took the red mug from Linda and put it back, then took out another one instead. “That one’s… Someone’s.”

Linda frowned at that but said nothing. Then, the doorbell rang. Huffing a little bit, Romy wordlessly entrusted the matter of tea to Linda and went to open the door. In it, stood a tall man with a formidable mustache and a friendly smile. 

“Hello. I’m Arthur,” he offered and outstretched his hand towards Romy. “Ada’s brother.”

“Romy,” she said, still thoroughly wrapped up in the blanket. “Very nice to meet you. Come on in,” she shook his hand and made way for him to enter the hall. 

He was wearing a suit and obviously either just came back from the party or was about to go to it. Romy decided not to waste any more of his time and led him straight to the kitchen. 

“Oh,” Linda exclaimed once she saw him. She put down the kettle and smiled at Arthur, outstretching her hand. “You must be the Shelby brother. Linda Albright, nice to meet you,” she said, as if she were the lady of the house.

Romy noticed Arthur got a little flustered at that and so she wrapped herself up even tighter in the blanket, observing the two of them now like an art appraiser might in order to determine the value of a painting. She definitely saw a little spark there.

“Arthur Shelby, how d’you do, Miss?” he said and kissed Linda’s hand gently. Linda giggled at that, she honest to God  _ giggled,  _ and Romy didn’t know what to do with herself. She just leaned against the kitchen counter and frowned, as Arthur slowly let go of Linda’s hand and straightened his tie.

“I, uh, promised my sister to take a look at that old boiler,” he said, still looking at Linda with a hesitant smile. 

“Oh, sure, sure!” Linda said then, still as if she was the one renting here, not Romy. “It’s very cold, yes. You better get right to it or else my friend’s going to freeze to death!” 

“Aye, we wouldn’t want that.” Arthur winked at Romy then and she blushed for  _ no damn reason. _

Then, Linda pointed towards the kettle. “Would you like some tea, Arthur?”

“Uh, that’s very kind of ya, yes.” Arthur took off his jacket then and placed it over the nearby chair, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Romy noticed two old-school style tattoos on both his arms and got curious. Arthur didn’t look like the kind of guy who would have those. Linda noticed them too and this little peep, Arthur noticed. He smiled at her and walked to the boiler to check the parameters. 

Linda busied herself with the tea then, humming something and nodding her pretty blonde head, while Arthur opened the cupboard under the sink and took out the toolbox. Romy took a couple of steps back, admiring the scene with a little smirk. This… this looked even more romantic than  _ Casablanca _ , to be perfectly honest. Linda placed the cup of tea next to Arthur and started talking to him about something insignificant, while he offered his opinion and busied himself with the boiler, though after a while it became apparent that he was paying way more attention to Linda than to the broken machine.

The boiler malfunction wasn’t a quick fix but it was not a catastrophe, either, Romy noticed with some relief. Even so, after Arthur had fixed the heating, he was not really in a hurry to leave. Romy left them alone for a good minute to grab herself another jumper but when she got back, she realized they were still talking. Arthur sat now at the kitchen table with Linda and chatted in a friendly manner about… well, what were they talking about, exactly? Romy grabbed her mug of lukewarm tea and shuffled in closer.

“I love dancing!” Linda exclaimed then, obviously as a follow up to something Arthur had just said. “Just not the weird things they do at the clubs these days,” she touched the cross pendant hanging around her neck. “But ballroom dancing or any kind of partner dancing is just so nice.”

“Well,” Arthur said then, sipping his tea. “I might have to take you up on that sometime, then. I know this little place, uh, yeah, they host dance nights sometime. How about we exchange numbers?”

Romy smiled into her mug as Arthur took out his cell enthusiastically and let Linda put her phone number in. They were just too cute, Romy decided. 

“Alright, uh…” Arthur shot Linda one last look but then checked his watch and it was quite obvious he had to go, even though now he quite frankly didn’t want to. “Ladies, I have to go now but…” He rolled down his shirt sleeves and put on the jacket. “I’ll see you later, I hope,” he smiled at Linda.

“Thank you for the boiler!” Romy exclaimed but Arthur just waved his hand, obviously deeming it nothing at all. As he was leaving, though, Romy could still see his cheeks flushing a little bit pink.

“So,” Linda said then, as soon as the door closed behind Arthur. Romy looked at her with a smirk. “He seemed nice. This is a nice apartment. He seemed nice, didn’t he?”

Romy laughed at that. “What the hell, I let you in for one minute and you’re already breaking hearts!”

“Excuse me!” Linda pretended to be outraged but her smile gave her away.

“Yeah, right.” Romy took out a beer for herself from the fridge. “Oh, shit, I hope he does take you dancing! That was just incredible to watch. Who knew Ada’s brother would be so… Well, you know. I don’t know? What even was that?”

“He seems nice,” Linda admitted and bit her lower lip. “Do you think…?”

“Yeah. Linda, come on! He literally invited you  _ dancing _ , what even was that, that was like a time travel flirting… You know what? That was some  _ Casablanca _ shit,” Romy was on a tangent, but what could she say? Love was exciting. At least… observing it in other people. “You know what, we need to watch two fictional people be idiots about their attraction and I’ll show you exactly what you two looked like, come on!”

Romy went back to the couch. Begrudgingly, Linda opened a beer for herself and followed. After Romy having thoroughly advocated for Arthur, and Linda deflecting, they moved to discussing the fictional characters from the movie. In fact, they were so deep in their discussion, Romy simping for Ingrid Bergman being the best  _ femme fatale _ in modern cinema, and Linda sternly pointing out how Humphrey Bogart had to be put on an apple crate to even kiss her in the final scene, that they didn’t even notice Ada and Alfie returning when they did.

“Arthur is taller than you, by the way,” Romy said with a smirk and Linda shushed her. “He wouldn’t have to stand on an apple crate to dance with you!”

“ROMY!”

“Oh, hi!” Ada chirped at them as she entered the room, fur coat in her hand. “Why are we talking about Arthur? Oh, new people, fun! I’m Ada. And I need some wine, stat, I’ve just witnessed a shitshow!”

“Linda, nice to meet you.” Linda smiled politely, despite that extraordinary news. Both her and Romy thoroughly ignored the Arthur question.

“Ah, hi,” Alfie said as he took off his scarf and coat. Romy let her eyes linger for a bit, since that particular look was very unusual for him. And it seemed like he did wear a shirt, after all; a shirt, a tie, and the fucking good quality trousers.  _ Shit.  _ That was some old-school style that really worked for the guy. How dare he? 

“Alfie,” he shook Linda’s hand, then practically fell into the couch next to Romy. She winced a bit but didn’t move away. 

“That bad?” she asked.

“Fuckin’ awful, mate,” Alfie rubbed his face with his hand. “They fought the entire bloody time.”

“Oh, it was… unusually dreadful, even for my family,” Ada admitted, as she stepped back into the living room with a glass of wine and sat down in the armchair. She took off her high heels and massaged her feet, sitting cross-legged and looking dead tired.

“Arthur was in a good mood,” Alfie said then, and took Romy’s beer from her. She looked at that in absolute horror and swiftly took the bottle away from him before he could drink some. 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Alf!” Ada straightened up in her seat. 

Alfie looked at her with a shit-eating grin and Linda turned questioningly to Romy, obviously not understanding the implications. Romy decided not to acknowledge Linda’s concern for the time being. What she did want to know was why Alfie suddenly wanted to drink, though. Ada was visibly very worried about that as well.

“Come on. I know you have one more, eh? We can share,” Alfie asked Romy, puppy eyes and all. Romy was mortified. What just happened? Did she just ruin his recovery? Or was he not really an alcoholic? Or did something happen at the party and this was a relapse?

She shouldn’t have been doing this around him, the realization hit her. She should have been a better roommate, she decided.

“I’ll be right back,” Romy said, before grabbing hers and Linda’s bottles and walking back to the kitchen. Ada followed her.

“Jesus Christ! We shouldn’t have, shit!” Ada exclaimed and poured the rest of the wine from her glass down the drain. She washed the glass then, all the while shaking her head, while Romy poured out the rest of the bottle contents along with the soap water and then promptly threw them in the trash.

“I know. I’m sorry, it’s—”

“No, it’s not your fault.” Ada sighed. “He doesn’t talk about it much, it was a… a different life, alright? But I should have told you before. Just in case,” she added, her voice hushed. 

Romy nodded at that earnestly, letting her know she understood. 

“He, uh… Mentioned. There is tea,” she pointed to the teapot. “I’ll boil more water.”

“Yeah,” Ada said, her voice nearly a whisper now. She dried her hands and took out three mugs from the cupboard: the Gryffindor, the Venom, and the red one. Romy took out one more for Linda.

“Did something happen? At the party, I mean,” Romy asked, trying to make herself sound as gentle as possible. “I don’t want to pry, I just… Listen, this was never… I mean, he never  _ said.  _ I kind of picked up on stuff, here and there, I even asked him once if he minded me drinking around him, he never… Uh, I should’ve known better, is what I’m saying. I’m sorry.”

Ada looked at Romy then for the longest time, obviously searching for something that the other woman couldn’t quite name. Then, Ada shook her head. 

“He’s got this under control, he’s been sober for years now. But he has bad days, sometimes. I’m… I don’t know what happened, I lost him for a minute there, at the party. All I saw was him and my bloody brother talking, then Alfie stormed out and, uh… And Grace made some comments, God I hate her! Honestly, her and Tommy are such a good fucking match, it’s not even a joke.” Ada bit her lower lip and observed as Romy refilled the teapot. “I don’t know what they talked about but I can imagine what kind of things Tommy could say to rile him up, I… But why? No idea.”

“Uhm, Ada, don’t take this the wrong way but it kind of sounds like—”

“Oh, like there’s history? Fuck yes! We all know there is. They weren’t particularly clever about it, either. And, you know, the other thing is, Tommy’s obviously married with two kids? And Alfie can be so goddamn naive with people sometimes…” She huffed. “I know Tommy’s my brother, but God, he’s horrible!”

Romy took it all in now and tried not to judge, but she couldn’t stop her head from spinning tales.  _ Shit.  _ So there was something there, after all, something implied in that first conversation they’ve had when she moved in. The dildo,  _ does he miss me…  _ Holy shit. 

“Do you think they’re, uh, still…?”

“No.” Ada shook her head very seriously. It was kind of unsettling, Romy had to admit, seeing her this stern and worried, instead of her bright, cheerful self. “But do I think there was something going on at some point, and then my brother using him, and then Grace finding out sometime in the middle of that mess? Oh yeah. One-hundred fucking percent.”

“But,” Romy frowned, waiting for the tea to brew. “If Tommy’s gay—”

“I don’t know what he is, alright?” Ada moved towards the pot then and gently took out the teabags. Romy didn’t protest. “I mean, he might be closeted, might just be a fucking terrible human being. Or he might have been using Alfie to fix his disastrous fucking marriage, I don’t know. But the thing about Tommy is, you never know with him. I love him, he’s my brother, I would kill for him, but do I want to kill that manipulative bitch, too? Oh, yeah!”

Romy nodded at that and took a deep breath. “Fixing his marriage by having an affair with your best friend? That sounds...”

Ada shrugged. “Just a feeling I have. But anyway, just… Forgive him, alright? I think this is one of the bad days and—”

“Forgive who?” Romy frowned. “Alfie?”

“Yeah, he’s not… He’s not some deranged addict that’s gonna sell our furniture for booze, I—”

“Ada, I would never think that. I don’t think that. About him.” Romy put her hand on Ada’s shoulder, trying to reassure her. “Come on. You’ve both been nothing but kind to me. I would never think that.”

She could feel Ada’s shoulders visibly relax and Romy took her hand away to pour the tea. 

“Thank you,” Ada sighed.

“I didn’t do anything. Now come on, help me carry these.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ada took two mugs. “We’re a team, right? Roommates and shit?”

“Roommates and shit, absolutely!”

“Good.”

As they returned, Romy saw Alfie messing about with her Netflix account that she’d connected to the tv. Before she could say anything, though, he’d chosen another movie and… Well. Who was she to protest, since it was her absolute favorite?

“Oh, I don’t like this one,” Linda said quietly. “Thanks!” She accepted a mug of tea from Romy. “Everything alright there?”

“Oh, yeah.” Romy nodded, a bit too much for it to be entirely neutral. She tried, though.

“Why don’t you like  _ Sunset Boulevard _ ?” Ada asked Linda curiously and sat down with her own mug.

Alfie remained quiet and didn’t look at anyone, obviously deep in his own thoughts.

“It scares me a bit,” Linda sighed. “Norma Desmond, I mean. She looks exactly like my mother.”

Ada giggled at that.

“Don’t worry, you’re nothing like your mother,” Romy patted Linda on the shoulder and put both hers and Alfie’s mugs on the coffee table. He was avoiding her eyes now and she noticed he looked embarrassed. She sat down close to him and gave him a little nudge. 

“Norma Desmond is still not too bad, I’m really not over Grace’s fuckin’ comments about my hair. You know she compared me to my mother? Apparently that bastard Tommy had shown her pictures!”

“Oh,” Romy arched one eyebrow. “What’d she say to you?”

Alfie grumbled in the background, obviously knowing full well what had been said and having his own opinion about it.

“Ah, just her delightful fucking jabs that she  _ means as a fuckin’ compliment, _ ” Ada said, air-quoting. 

“Who’s Grace?” Linda asked. “And your hair is very nice!” she said to Ada immediately. “I think it’s very chic, the color suits your eyes.”

“Thank you! Grace is my dumb brother’s wife,” Ada said and then smiled at Linda brightly. “See? This is how you give fuckin’ compliments!”

Romy chuckled at that and pushed Alfie’s red mug towards him. He shot her a curious look and she noticed he seemed unsure now.

“I had adult supervision, it’s drinkable,” Romy said, trying to sound kind.

“Ah. So no poison, then.” He gave her a small smile but still wouldn’t relax. Romy huffed and nudged him again, very gently. 

“Why would I poison you?” Romy was trying to think of something nice to say, and fast. “You’re the only one that feeds me, if it’s just me and Ada, then we’re gonna order McDonald’s till the day we die.” 

“Oi!” Ada said, pretending to be offended. But her and Romy exchanged smiles, the co-conspirator kind. “So how’d you two know each other?” Ada gestured between Linda and Romy, trying to shift the focus from Alfie for a second. 

“From the university,” Linda said. “We were in one group for two years, then of course she chose another major, Miss Original. I took French.”

Alfie chuckled but said nothing. Romy nudged him again, a bit harder than necessary.

“Ow!” he protested and shoved her a bit in turn. She put her hand over his face and pushed back, spilling some tea on herself.

“Shit!” 

“You started it, woman!”

“Oh, cool! What do you do now?” Ada asked, ignoring them both expertly, evidently putting her past experience with four brothers to good use.

“Uh, mostly charity work for my church and—” Linda paused, seeing the little scuffle beside her. An only child, she looked a bit worried.

“Watch the fuckin’ movie!”

“You watch the movie, woman, it’s your fuckin’ list!”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“You fuck off!”

“GUYS!” Ada clapped her hands. 

Romy let go of Alfie’s shirt then and went back to sipping her tea as if nothing happened. He grabbed his own mug then, but obviously much more at ease than before. Romy and Ada exchanged one more look, obviously satisfied with their mutual work.

“So,” Linda said after a minute, breaking the tension. “Joe Gillis… hot or psycho?”


	4. The Boss

Next weekend, Romy really wanted to sleep in but knew it would be impossible. For the past couple of weeks, work had slowly gone from hellish to unbearable. The closer to December and the yearly cut off, the worse it’s been. Every day, she would wake up at odd hours, sometimes six, sometimes three, sometimes five in the morning, realize immediately where she was and then the anxiety would prevent her from falling back to sleep — all the thoughts and worries would come in floods, the fake scenarios occupying her mind for hours on end. It wasn’t only in her head now; it had turned into physical stomach spasms and surges of panic, triggered by absolutely nothing at all. So this particular weekend, Romy was pissed it was happening at all, and on Sunday for that matter. It was bloody  _ Sunday  _ and she really needed to get some sleep. 

Instead of tossing and turning, though, Romy decided to at least be productive. Sense of accomplishment was almost substitute enough for serotonin. She started with sorting through her dirty laundry, which… there wasn’t much sorting to do, since most of her clothes were black anyway. Having decided of course that she would only be doing laundry after everybody wakes up, she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee and figure out if she would be in the mood to draw later on. Probably not, just like any other days.

As she made the coffee, she noticed a stack of dirty dishes in the sink. Before she could stop herself, Romy rolled up her pajama sleeves and started cleaning. Doing the dishes led to cleaning all the counter surfaces, then mopping the floor, then re-organizing the space underneath the sink. Cleaning relaxed her sufficiently enough to make the stomach cramps stop, even if for a bit. She was in the middle of cleaning the top of the cupboards, balancing one leg on a chair and one on the kitchen counter, when she heard Alfie say behind her:

“Now, if you fall, right, I won’t catch ya. Bad back an’ all.”

A bit startled, Romy turned towards him, ready to ask if she had woken him up. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said instead, then got back to the task at hand. 

Alfie chuckled and leaned onto the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He watched her in silence for a minute or two, before stepping closer and taking her by the hand. This time properly startled, Romy had to grab his shoulder for support.

“What the fuck!” She nearly slapped him by accident with the dirty rag she was holding.

“Come on, yeah? It’s clean. I can’t watch that, alright? Bloody hazard you are, woman. Come down from there, come on.” He gently took the rag from her and helped her down, smirking a bit at her disgruntled expression. 

“Yeah, I should probably ask you to work in my kitchen, bloody hell!” He looked around, visibly impressed. 

Romy shook her head and squeezed his shoulder instead of a “thank you”. She turned around to wash the rag in the sink, then placed it on the radiator to dry. She threw away the rubber gloves and took a look around, almost satisfied with her results. 

“It’s work,” she murmured then, looking somewhere above Alfie’s shoulder. “They, uh, gave me some bad scores again. And the closer we’re getting to the cut off, the worse they’re treating me. So, I can’t sleep,” she huffed. “And I, uh… I’m still waiting for them to extend my contract. They do this every year, they do the waiting game to show me who’s boss, I end up working at least two weeks without any addendum, stress to fuck about everything…” She took a deep breath. “I clean to take my mind off of shit.”

“Fuck. Yeah, I can see that,” Alfie said but before he could add anything else, Ada exclaimed from behind him:

“What the hell happened to the kitchen!”

Alfie chuckled and pointed to Romy. “Aye, she happened. Had to keep her from scrubbing the corners with her toothbrush.”

“I need to do laundry,” Romy muttered then and, seeing as they were all awake now, got straight to it. 

As Romy waited for the washing machine to finish the program, she tried to draw in her room but her mind was elsewhere. She knew she had very little time before this weird fucking headspace she was in would turn into a full-blown depressive episode.  _ Again.  _ She was close this time, felt it coming even, and she was out of her mind scared. She didn’t want to go there again and it would almost make her cry — had she not been so damn  _ dead inside.  _

She hadn’t drawn anything good in months. The last time she laughed at something was only when Alfie or Ada deliberately tried to coax it out of her. She felt like such a damn burden and disaster, but at the same time... Rationally, she knew that it was that damn goblin in her head, telling her things. And so she turned off the iPad and went to hang the fucking laundry. At least that would be something.

From the lack of space in her own room, Romy set up the laundry rack in the living room, as all three of them did from time to time. When she was almost done and ready to go back to her room and binge Netflix for hours on end, she heard Alfie behind her again, clearing his throat. 

“I, uh, was wonderin’ if you can help me with something. After you’re done with the… Hm.” He hummed, gesturing wildly around the apartment. “Your thing.”

“Sure,” Romy shrugged and hung the last one of her identical black shirts. “What’s up?”

“Yeah, I have some stuff to do at the pub… The one I was tellin’ you about? It’s, uh… yeah, somethin’ came up. I ‘ave to finish some things.”

She turned around and tilted her head to the side, watching him closely now. Why the pub, all of a sudden? And why be so cryptic about it? He only mentioned it once before and as far as she knew, he had sold it.

“Yeah, so.” He huffed a bit, obviously tense and not explaining himself very well. “Can you come with me?”

Was this another relapse in the making? Was she going to be a drinking buddy now?

“I’m not actually, uh… I don’t have any clothes.” She pointed to the laundry rack. “Everything’s wet. I wasn’t planning on going out today. Sorry.”

_ Why did she say that even? Wouldn’t be the first time she went out in her pajamas and a coat over it. _

Alfie nodded at that and said nothing at first, visibly mulling something over. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He went back to his room then and Romy, feeling like an asshole, went back to hers.  _ Why the fuck did she refuse? Go the fuck after him, help him out for once! _

_ You know why,  _ the goblin in her brain piped up with his unsolicited opinions.  _ You’re the pet project. He is wasting his time, trying to cheer you up because you keep doing strange shit around the apartment. Stay in your room, get out of their way, and get it the fuck together.  _

“Shh!” she physically said to herself, trying to silence her own mind. It’s gotten to that lately; her having developed physical ticks.

She went back under the covers and reached for her laptop, ready to mindlessly binge on  _ Criminal Minds  _ for the rest of the day. After only about ten minutes or so, the door to Romy’s room burst open. It was Ada. She slammed the door shut and threw a pair of skinny black jeans straight at Romy’s head.

“You’re going with him,” she said sternly, then took a look around the room and frowned. “And why the fuck are you cleaning the kitchen like a madwoman in the attic, making us all feel bad, but you don’t even clean your own room!” She approached the window then and opened it wide, letting the cold fresh air in. A bit stunned but intrigued, Romy shut down the laptop and looked at the jeans, then back at Ada, saying nothing. She wrapped herself up in the covers, already feeling the chill.

“What’s going on with you?” This time, Ada’s voice was softer. 

Romy looked to the side and for no reason at all felt her eyes stinging.  _ Oh shit…  _ That was it, wasn’t it? The roommate confrontation.

“Hey. Did something happen?” Ada was all soft edges now, obviously having noticed the changed state of her roommate. She came closer then and sat down at the edge of Romy’s bed. “What’s wrong?”

Nobody asked her that in a very long time. The last time was probably years ago, during therapy.

“Nothing, I’m… Just feeling down lately, is all.”

Ada frowned and shook her head, not fooled in the slightest. “Everyone feels down sometimes. But I know this isn’t it. So tell me. I can help. Whatever this is, this,” she gestured around Romy, “it cannot go on. You’re dying on the inside, girl, I can see it.”

They looked straight at each other now and Romy grabbed the covers tightly for comfort. Then, the tears came. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, though the worst part of that was — she wasn’t even sure why exactly she was crying in the first place.

“Oh, hey…” Ada put her arm around Romy’s shoulders but that did nothing to stop her sobs. If anything, it made her feel even sadder about the whole thing.

The built up pressure and anxiety subsided a bit as she cried but it felt like the sadness was still this vast, endless well inside her chest. She had unlimited resources of suffocating despair and loneliness in the darkest shade of blue, and no amount of crying could ever make this well dry out. 

“Hey…” Ada moved a bit closer and embraced her without saying anything more, running circles around Romy’s back and trying to comfort her. “Shh, you’re okay… You’re okay. Let it out.”

Letting herself be held still felt like a foreign territory. Having been in only two serious relationships a very long time ago, while simultaneously having the experience of an emotionally distant mother and a brother that would never hold her ever again, Romy felt like she couldn’t accept all of this comfort that Ada was now offering. It felt like stealing. 

Romy pulled away first and reached for the pack of tissues underneath her pillow. She blew her nose loudly and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Ada, I—”

“What happened?” Ada frowned. “Is it that work of yours again? Because… shit, girl, it’s not worth it, goddamn! What’s going on with you?”

Romy shook her head again. “It’s not only work, it’s... uh, it’s everything. I’m just so fucking overwhelmed and just…  _ sad  _ all the time. I’m just sad, I don’t feel anything else! It’s… I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Ada bit her lower lip, still looking very worried. “Are you… is it depression, then?”

Romy shrugged, then nodded, not feeling like holding it in anymore. “Probably, yeah. It happened before. Supposedly it never really goes away, it’s like… fucking eczema or something.”

Ada smiled softly at the comparison and put her hand on Romy’s shoulder again. “Well, do you… do you have any coping mechanisms that might make you feel better? For me, it’s always food but, uh… maybe a nice bath? Or a walk?”

Romy sighed and shook her head once more. “My head would still be with me in the bath.”

“Ah, right. Sorry. That’s true.” Ada frowned. “But if you have someone that you talked to about this before, maybe now would be a good time to… you know?”

“Not yet. But I will,” Romy said quickly. “I just… I don’t know if I want to see her again, she wasn’t the greatest, therapy-wise. I mean, she did help me but she relied on pills and I…” Romy let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. “They did make me feel better. For a while. But I gained a lot of weight, I was tired all the time, I had crazy headaches and just… Do you really want to hear all this?”

“Yeah.” 

“Ah… Well, after a while it was like this, this fucking  _ sadness _ just got immune to the meds. And still, you know, the source of the problem was still there, I never got over… you know. My shit. She was mostly a grief counsellor, so I don’t blame her, but she was also a psychiatrist, so. I guess she had a different focus.”

Ada nodded at that and took Romy’s hand in hers. Thankfully, she never asked about the grief part.

“Well, if you want, I can give doctor Gold a call. He’s a family friend, of sorts. He’s weird as fuck but he did actually help Alfie, the last time he relapsed.”

Romy smiled at that and nodded. “Oh. Yeah. The diary guy. He told me.”

“Yeah.” Ada smiled too, this time a bit wider. “But listen… I know it sounds shitty but I, uh, I don’t think sitting in bed is going to help. I’m not saying, you know, go out and do yoga in the park but,” she frowned. “Maybe do some drawing? Or try to talk to us? Or visit your mom?”

Romy shrugged, looking away again. Seeing her mother would actually make this worse.

“I haven’t been able to really draw anything good in months.”

“Ah, yeah… It probably kills your creativity, huh?” Ada nodded and pressed her lips together. “Alright, well. With your permission, let me call doctor Gold tomorrow? He’s not expensive. He's a bit eccentric but believe me, he’s worth it. I got my friend back because of him and I would like my other one to come back, too.” The kind smile Ada gave her then almost made Romy tear up again. Holy shit, did Ada mean that?

“Do you mean that?” she asked, very quietly.

“What?” Ada was confused now.

“Friends.”

_ Oh God, she sounded exactly like that weird girl from Stranger Things… _

“Oh my God,” Ada raised her eyebrows at that. “I’m gonna punch you in the face! You don’t think we’re friends, you little bitch?!”

Romy actually laughed at that and shook her head, then nodded, not really sure what to do anymore.

“I…” She took a very deep breath and took Ada’s both hands in hers. “Thank you. Of course we are,” she said, a little bit more sure now.

“I sure fucking hope so!” Ada exclaimed, but this time Romy could clearly see the mischievous glint back in her eyes.

Okay. Perhaps it was time. Perhaps it was  _ now,  _ that timeframe for “if things get worse again,” the one she had been dreading all this time. Perhaps it was already here and Ada had just helped her put it into words.

“Thank you,” Romy said quietly and forced the goblin to shut the fuck up before he could say she wasn’t brave enough to do therapy again. 

“Of course! We’re a team!” Ada grinned now and then, without any warning, pulled Romy out of bed. The jeans fell to the floor and Romy almost did too. “Now! Alright. Listen… There is something else.”

Romy nodded seriously, then looked down at the jeans again. To her surprise, getting out of her pajamas suddenly felt like the more exciting choice. She wanted things to change and she was grateful that this time around there were actually people in her life that pushed her towards recovery. It did feel like teamwork and, after having to lift the entire world on her shoulders for so long, it brought a surge of comfort to her stomach, silencing the anxiety spasms.

“Well, Alfie’s bar, that’s the thing,” Ada said and then walked towards Romy’s closet. She took out a fresh pair of underwear for her, two odd socks and a random pajama shirt with Marvel logo. She threw each piece of clothing at Romy, as she continued to explain:

“So listen, don’t say no again, but he rarely asks for help, if ever—”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Romy said quickly. “I am, it’s not that I didn’t want to, I... I don’t know what it was.” Romy was almost pleading now, desperate for Ada to understand. “All I want lately is to stay in bed, I don’t… It’s not personal, Ada, I swear.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, come on.” She waved her hand and approached Romy again to pull her into a hug. “It’s okay. I promise.”

“It’s not, though…” Romy tried to wiggle out of it but Ada was relentless.

“You wanna stay in bed, shit, stay in bed.” She patted Romy on the back gently and Romy felt a bit like a cat that really didn’t want to be cuddled. “This is just me worried about you both, because… ah, fuck. Okay, there is something going on with him, too. And, well. Since he already asked you...”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Nobody’s mad, it’s okay, it’s not about that. Shit. Listen, I know it’s anxiety, okay? I used to have that. But this is me asking. For our friend, alright?”

“You had it too?” Romy squinted at her in disbelief. 

“Yeah! Far too many brothers, remember? And listen, your brain, it’s an organ. Our bodies get sick sometimes.” Ada put both hands on Romy’s shoulders and looked straight at her. “But it won’t last forever. One day, with therapy and time, all that… slime and shit, it won’t be there anymore. And you’ll get better, I promise.” She smiled at Romy and nodded, and somehow Ada’s confidence and the fact that she seemed to have been speaking from experience made Romy believe every word. She actually did believe Ada, it wasn’t only a way to convince herself with wishful thinking anymore.

“Okay.” Ada nodded to herself and turned around, obviously letting Romy know this was the moment to get dressed. Now a bit intrigued about the pub story, Romy obliged. “So. The pub,” Ada continued, “listen, it’s important. We have to get Alfie through this. I don’t know what kind of shit he’d been stirring but… considered it stirred.”

“Okay…?”

“Right, so. Shit, where do I even begin?” She groaned. “Okay. It used to be his, at one point. So the sparknotes on that, he had the majority of shares, along with his uncle. His father’s brother, estranged from the family, except for Alfie. I think… Or maybe it was the mother…?”

“Ada.”

“Right! Then, of course, Alfie got stupid in thinking with his cock and let my hellish brother convince him to sell. To my brother, that is. Because Tommy would suck himself off if he could...” 

That talk sounded a bit like Ada was sending her on a mission. For a second there, Romy felt like a major asshole again. Alfie, just like Ada, had been nothing but a sweetheart to her all this time. He drove her to Luton and back, shared his food, comforted whenever she needed it, he even survived meeting her damn mother, and now he needed something from her in return and she… Well. She fucked up. But she decided then and there to make things right. Especially since Tommy Shelby was somehow involved again, and it all started to sound like a love story from Hell. Or something that she would otherwise expect to have encountered in the Brontë sisters books. 

If Alfie needed a bodyguard, then she will damn well be his James fucking Bond.

“So… why would he sell it?” Romy asked, buttoning the jeans. “You, uh, you can turn around now.”

“Well.” Ada sighed and turned around, then looked towards the ceiling, visibly trying to find the right words. “Alfie was still drinking then. And I think on some level he was in love, perhaps? And love makes you a moron, we all know that.”

Romy shrugged but nodded. She couldn’t honestly say she was ever really in love. But she agreed with Ada, because obviously, romantic entanglements were messy. Especially if money and spousal infidelity were involved.

“What happened with the money?” Romy asked, trying very hard not to sound like Scrooge McDuck.

“I don’t know.” Ada crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back on the wall. “He used to hang around some shady fucking people at some point, maybe it was debt? Don’t know. For a while there, I was kind of hoping he would start his own restaurant, you know? But then my friend needed a head chef in his kitchen, Alfie was perfect for it, he applied… I don’t know what happened with the rest of it. But I guess now he’s trying to rebuild himself and I think he’s allowed to, so. I have to help. And you’re helping with me!”

Romy frowned, taking everything in. Trying to keep her hands busy again, she turned around to at least make the bed since she was out of it anyway.

“Well, these look good on you.” Ada said then and grinned, pointing to her jeans. 

“Ah… Thanks.” Romy returned the smile. “So listen… Why does he have to go there all of a sudden? And why can’t you go with him?”

“Probably because of Tommy.” Ada shrugged. “And he didn’t ask me, he asked you. So.” She clapped her hands. “Chop, chop! Shoes?”

Romy smiled at that and found her boots somewhere under a pile of unfinished, discarded sketches.

“So you think Tommy summoned him or something? For business? Or am I a chaperone?”

“Don’t know. It might be the uncle, too. He still refuses to sell his remaining shares, or so I hear. Good for him, honestly, someone needs to put Tommy in his place, but uh… I don’t know. Maybe he wants to give Alfie a talking down again. Either way, he needs someone with him and you’re going!” 

And that’s how Romy found herself knocking on Alfie’s door, with Ada beside her as the guardian of order between the three. Alfie opened the door after a minute or two, but but before anyone could get a word in, Ada laid down the law:

“Lend that laundry disaster your sweater, it’s freezing out, don’t forget the Oyster thingy for the tube, take a scarf, I love you but I’m meeting Polly for brunch, so good luck, kids!” Then she kissed Alfie’s cheek and off she went. Seconds after, the front door slammed behind her.

Left alone and a bit stunned, Romy and Alfie exchanged equally perplexed looks. They stood motionless for a solid moment, before Alfie disappeared in his room. Romy kind of expected this door to slam too, though this time in her face, but no such thing happened. It was still cracked open as well and so she took a peek inside.

The room was dark and messy, with cassettes and books covering the floor. There was a small record player on the chest of drawers and the majority of space in front of a small bed was taken over by the bookshelf, filled to the brim.

Then, Alfie was back and so Romy pretended to look elsewhere. He closed the door behind him and handed her a worn-out jumper. 

“Here,” he grumbled. 

_ Red.  _ She smiled to herself and quickly put it over her head. It was way too big for her but who would even care. It was cozy and soft. Feeling self-conscious about the entire situation, though, she put her hands in her back pockets, since the front ones in every single pair of women’s jeans were there just for show, apparently. The jumper smelled faintly of cigarettes and something that must have been cologne and… it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“You don’t have to,” he said, not really taking her silence too well this time. He was still standing there; leaning on the door and making no indication he wanted to go anywhere with her. She looked down and noticed he had two different socks on again, one yellow and one purple. 

“I’m sorry. For being dismissive, before. I didn’t mean, I... I’ve been having some issues. Lately.” She cleared her throat, still looking down and virtually talking to his socks. “It’s something I’m dealing with. But it’ll take time. I’ll try to… you know, to be a better friend. I promise. I’ll make an effort.”

She dared to look up then. He was still looking straight at her, although now with a little less pronounced frown.

“Ah, ‘s not about that, though, innit? Y’ don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he clarified. “I just meant to get ya outside a bit, alright? It wasn’t an order. We both noticed with Ada, you’re, uh... obviously in a bad place, yeah? And it’s been gettin’ worse.”

Romy nodded and looked down again. The goblin stirred and poked at her, and the guilt resurfaced. She almost shushed herself out loud again.

“We’re just worried, ‘s all. It’s hard to see ya like this, just… sad. And kinda in yer ‘ead all the time.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded again. “I’m sorry, I—” 

“Ah, fuck. No, come on. Don’t say sorry. Come ‘ere.” He reached out then and pulled her into a hug.

Her whole body stiffened but she didn’t want to pull away, not really. It was yet another hug of the day and still didn’t feel like enough hugs altogether. It felt like she had a lifetime of catching up in that department. 

“It’ll be alright, hm? Yeah, come on.” Alfie said, his voice rumbling low and loud in his chest as Romy pressed her ear to it. She smiled at that and embraced him now as well.

_ Shit. _

She liked that hug a little bit more than she would like to admit, even to herself. She closed her eyes, letting herself be comforted for a minute or two, but finally pulled away first. Then, she reached for her phone to check nothing at all.

“Okay,” she decided and actually managed a smile now. “Let’s get going. I wanna see that famous pub of yours.”

They walked to the underground station in silence that didn’t feel comfortable at all. It was tense and Romy didn’t really have any ideas on how to break it. She didn’t even ask him where exactly they were going, but to be honest she didn’t really care. They didn’t speak until they switched to the Northern line on Stockwell and the tube got distinctly more crowded then.

“So, uh...” Romy said, leaning a bit into Alfie while trying to accommodate other passengers behind her. There was a lady with a bunch of children and of course one guy who had a massive backpack on, because why the hell wouldn’t he wear that in rush hour.

Alfie hummed and looked down at Romy, to show that he was listening. Before Romy could speak, however, he put his arm on her back and gently pulled her closer to avoid any collision with the businessman standing directly behind her. He was looking at his iPad and clearly paid no mind to anyone else around him. 

“Where are we going, exactly?” she finally asked.

“Camden,” Alfie said, his arm still around her shoulders. She didn’t pull away this time, as there was nowhere to go and she didn’t really want to. Besides, she was a bit surprised to realize that this didn’t feel awkward or forced at all. She was never a very physical person, since nobody gave her the chance to be one, but Alfie clearly was and it was easy to fall into that pleasant routine with him.

As they arrived at the station, he nudged her gently to get out before him but then he was back at her side, leading her towards the right exit. He had clearly been here millions of times before and it seemed like he could have easily found his way with his eyes closed. Back on the street, Alfie stopped for a minute to light a cigarette but then they resumed their silent walk. They turned right behind a comic book store and suddenly Romy felt nostalgic. 

“I used to live in a house behind that building,” she said, pointing to the old block of flats as they passed it.

“Really?” Alfie smirked to himself, then took a long drag of his cigarette. “Hm, well. That’s the place right there.” He put his hand on her shoulder to turn her towards the other side of the street. 

There was a pub between a florist and a bookshop, though it really resembled a small club rather than a casual pub. Anyway, it looked nothing like Romy had imagined Alfie’s previous place of business. This one there was fancy and modern and had nothing in common with Alfie as a person, at least not in Romy’s understanding of him. 

“I think we went there once with my friend,” she said, frowning. “Last year or so. But it’s posh as fuck, we only had one drink. No offence.”

Alfie chuckled softly and threw away the cigarette butt. Then he crossed the street without looking and Romy followed. He really was acting now like he owned the entirety of Camden Town and she had to admit, it kind of suited him.

“It used to be called different,” he said and opened the door before her. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It used to be  _ The Bakery. _ ”

She entered first and immediately felt out of place. The pub was indeed very fancy, everything inside was white, metal, modern, and soulless. She wondered immediately what it had looked like before. 

“Ah, sorry folks! We’re closed, come back at three.” A man behind the bar said, without even looking in their general direction.

“Ollie,” Alfie said then warningly, though Romy sensed immediately by his tone that he wasn’t entirely serious. He let the door shut behind them loudly and smirked at the bartender’s back. The other man turned around then and yelped in surprise.

“Boss!” 

The guy basically ran towards them and Alfie nearly fell over when he hugged him with full force. Alfie laughed at that and patted him on the back, trying to find his balance.

“Fuck, what are you doing here!” Ollie grabbed Alfie by his shoulders and looked happy enough to kiss him. Romy chuckled at that and he turned towards her then, surprised, as if he hadn’t even acknowledged her presence before.

“Shit, boss! That your new girl?” Ollie pointed at Romy and Alfie got flustered for no damn reason at all.

“Romy,” she outstretched her hand and waited for Alfie to explain that they were roommates. No explanations came, however, and she cleared her throat then, gesturing between them. “Roommates.”

“Oh, moved in already! Damn, you work fast, boss.” Ollie grinned at Alfie and Alfie just gave him the finger. Romy put her hands in her jacket pockets and took a look around, not really wanting to interfere in the reunion and touch the roommate subject again. For some reason, getting mistaken for the girlfriend made her ego swell a little bit there.

“Bloody hell, wait, wait… I need to tell the lads! Don’t go anywhere!” Ollie patted Alfie on the arm, then turned towards Romy. “Don’t let him run away or anything, alright?”

After that, he went to the back but because the pub was completely empty and Ollie seemed to never be using his inside voice, what he said was well audible even in the main section:

“Oi, lads! Boss is here!”

A couple of muffled voices said something then and somebody dropped something heavy. Amused by the scene, Romy looked towards Alfie but he pretended not to notice. 

“No!” Ollie exclaimed then. “ _ The  _ Boss!”

“Oh,  _ the boss? _ ” She stage-whispered and grinned at Alfie like a madwoman.

He cleared his throat and tried very hard to hide a smile, but failed miserably.

After that, two more guys ran out from the storage space at the back and all of them greeted Alfie as enthusiastically as Ollie had, patting him on the back and speaking one over the other. After a minute, Romy noticed they switched to another language entirely and now it was a mixture of English and something unfamiliar that sounded German and French both at the same time. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Lads, lads! Oi!” Alfie was the first one to separate himself from the small crowd. “Alright, it’s great to see ya, eh? But I’m not really back. There’s some papers for me.”

“Papers?” Ollie frowned at that, back to English as well. “No. You heard anything?”

The tallest of the guys there shrugged, as did the other one.

“Ah, fuck. Alright…” Alfie let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face with his hand. “Right. Lemme call him, alright? Now, Ollie?” His stern tone was back again, which made Ollie beam for some reason. “Anythin’ she wants, yeah?” He pointed to Romy then and turned around to get to the phone behind the bar. 

“So you are his girl,” one of the guys said and Romy blushed. 

“I’m really not.” She shook her head. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

All three looked at her skeptically, then at each other. 

“He’s never brought a girl before.”

“Ever?” She huffed. “Come on. Not once?”

“Nah. He brought a guy once, I think,” one of them said.

“Hm.” Romy took a look around, not really letting herself venture into that territory. “So... what’s your name? You’re Ollie, and you?”

“Ike.” The tall one said.

“Noam.” The handsome one with long hair.

Romy grinned and nodded. “Cool. Well, I’m Romy. Nice to meet you.”

She heard Alfie talking on the phone then. Whatever conversation he was having, it involved a lot of shouting and swearing on his end. He looked furious.

“Uh, you want a pint, Romy?” Ike asked and she nodded quickly.

“Guinness, please?”

“Sure, luv, come with us.”

All four moved then to the other side of the bar to give Alfie his privacy. The guys were obviously not very eager to go back to work and Romy was happy to be the devil on their shoulder. She couldn’t help but glance towards Alfie from time to time, though, as he was growing angrier by the minute.

“Have you met the uncle?” Ollie asked, as he poured her Guinness. 

“Oh, no. I haven’t. What’s he like?” Romy took off her jacket and sat down on the stool right in front of him. 

“He looks and talks exactly like the guy from  _ Kill Bill _ ,” Ike said and grinned at her, then went behind the bar to at least pretend he was sorting the merchandise.

“Yeah, he does. Scary dude,” Noam agreed and moved to pretend to help him.

“Shit, he actually does look like the actor, eh?” Ollie said and passed Romy the glass. “Scarier than his brother, that’s for sure.”

“Alfie has a brother?” Romy asked and took her drink. “Ah, thank you.”

“Nah, Alfie’s old man. Nicest bloke around,” Ike said. 

“Yeah, died a couple years back.” Ollie nodded to himself. “But there is a sister.”

“A sister?”

“Oh, the sister!” Noam pretended to swoon. Romy snorted at that a bit.

“What’s she like?” she asked, this time a bit quieter, but still very curious to know.

“So nice!”

“Sweet.”

“Bit like Alfie…”

“Ah, a gorgeous beard, then?” Romy grinned at them and they returned it.

“Nah, mate, every time she’d come here, right,” Noam looked behind his shoulder, then continued, “Klaus would be like a kitten. Did everythin’ she asked. We love her!”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t come here anymore. Not since he sold the place to that bastard.”

Romy took another sip of her Guinness, processing that information. “So he still works here? The famous uncle?”

“Yeah. We all still do, the place is…” Ollie shrugged and leaned back to take a look around. “It’s a lot of history. And this fucking guy,” he pointed behind him, most likely to indicate Alfie, “he was the heart and soul here. Golden years, yeah. Until that fucking leech came around, then he ghosted everyone from the old gang. That’s the first time we’ve seen him in a while.”

Romy frowned. According to Ada, those “golden years” must have been Alfie’s drinking days.

“Maybe he was embarrassed?” she said softly.

“He has nothing to be fucking embarassed about!” Ollie scoffed. 

“Maybe he needs to hear it from his friends, then.” She shrugged and went back to her drink. The guys looked at each other but said nothing. “So, uhm… The leech would be Tommy, then?”

“Yeah.” Ike rolled his eyes and turned around to stack the wine fridge. “Thomas fucking Shelby, eh?”

_ So it seemed…  _ Romy put her best James Bond face on and pretended not to care too much. She was dying to know more, though, but wanted the intel to come in its due time.

“So… Alfie sold him the shares?” she asked, trying to be very fucking sly about it.

The guys looked at each other then, as if having a wordless conversation. Noam shook his head and they all went silent so Romy decided not to pry. The subject obviously needed to be dropped. She took another sip, then turned around to take a look at the soulless, plain walls behind her. 

“It’s very, uh… Minimalist.”

Ike snorted at that. “Didn’t used to be.”

“No?”

“Nah, it used to be cool. Look.” He took out his phone and opened the gallery. He looked through the pictures and then showed it to Romy. “Here. Swipe left.” 

She took the phone and swiped, curious of the previous design. The Bakery used to look like a typical pub, kind of old school, badly lit, and definitely with more character than this version. This one here looked cleaner than a plastic surgery clinic. The old one… well, it looked like a place she might have frequented.

“Wow.” She nodded and gave Ike his phone back. “I like the old one better, to be honest. We were here with my friend one time, last year I think? Left after one drink.”

“We might have met, then!” Ollie exclaimed, a bit more cheerful and less mysterious now. 

“Maybe.” She smiled. “I mean, we didn’t leave because of the place itself, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that,” she frowned, “you know, this place attracts this special kind of men, these—”

“Corporate?” Ike smirked.

“Sleazy?” Noam added.

“Yup!” Romy snapped her fingers and grinned. “That’s the one.”

Then, they all heard the sound of the receiver being forcefully slammed against the phone. Cursing under his breath, Alfie emerged from the other side of the bar, looking furious. It made the other men tense immediately, but not Romy. She knew his moods well enough now.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, watching him closely. 

“Nothin’, the fuckin’ cunt is toyin’ with me again,” Alfie shook his head, then shot a look towards her Guinness. “I need a fuckin’ drink,” he grumbled, voice low and dangerous. His accent was more pronounced now, too. Romy has never seen him like this before but instinctively moved her glass a bit further away.

“Don’t.”

“Fuck, said I just need it, alright? So,” he made a point of taking out his cigarettes, then put one in his mouth as if it was a theatrical performance. “I’ll be outside, alright? Come get me when yer ready.” He patted his pockets then and Romy sighed, then leaned in her seat to reach behind the bar and she took one of the promotional matchboxes. 

“Here, Grandpa.” She threw it at him and he caught it swiftly. There was a silent acknowledgment between them that lasted just a second, before Alfie nodded and averted his eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s… Nice to see ya, lads, alright?” he grumbled then towards the boys and they all returned the sentiment, waving goodbye and mumbling between themselves, obviously a bit sad that he had to leave. “Yeah, and Ollie?”

“Boss?” Ollie grinned at him and Romy noticed immediately that it somehow improved Alfie’s mood a tiny bit.

“Next time… y’know. Call me if there’s really somethin’. I ain’t playin’ this fucking game with him no more.”

“Yes, boss!” Ollie’s grin grew even wider.

Romy was a bit puzzled at Alfie’s statement but decided against asking. She would have to let Ada know later. Although… She was still a bit unsure. Tommy was her  _ brother _ . Wouldn’t telling her betray Alfie’s trust? She would have to think this one through before opening her mouth. Spilling secrets was easy, after all.

“Boss?” Ike put down the box of wine he was holding and cleared his throat. Alfie looked at him questioningly, then Ike said something in that foreign language again and Romy wondered if perhaps it was Hebrew. 

Alfie acknowledged this one with an absent expression and a grunt, then he left to smoke. Romy finished her drink quickly after the door closed behind him and put her jacket back on. 

“Boys, it was a pleasure,” she said and gave them a little nod. 

“Yeah, and listen…” Ollie looked like he was searching for the right words and so she stopped in her tracks and let him gather his thoughts. “Take care of him for us, alright?”

They were all looking at her now and she had no idea what to say. She definitely didn’t expect this one.

“He mostly takes care of me, to be honest.” She felt herself blush a bit but decided it was because of the drink she just had. 

“Well, then you return the favor,” Noam said seriously. 

Romy looked at them then and nodded, deciding this she could promise. This, she should promise.

“Hey, what did you say to him? Before he left,” she asked Ike. He grinned at her, back to his charming self, and shook his head.

“Would be lost in translation. But ask him.”

She chuckled at that and shook her head. “Alright. I’ll see you!”

The cold winter air hit her hard as she left the pub. She spotted Alfie, leaning on the brick wall of the building and smoking. Evidently brooding, he looked like a tortured protagonist from a gangster movie. 

“You know,” she said, her voice playful, “I do believe it is your time to be brooding and me making you tea, Alfie.”

He shot her a quizzical look and she approached him, then leaned against the wall right next to him. She nudged him lightly. “But, since I don’t want to kill you, maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee?”

He shook his head but she did see a little smirk there. 

“A cup of coffee?”

“Yeah. Like people do.”

“They do, huh?” He took another long drag and looked straight ahead.

Romy smiled at that and nudged him again. To her surprise, he outstretched one hand and put it around her shoulders, though still silent like a grave. This felt comfortable, though, and Alfie was warm. She could feel it radiating from him, even through the jacket. The smell of cigarettes and that sandalwood cologne grew stronger but she promised herself she wouldn’t go all  _ Silence of the Lambs  _ on him and sniff it. There were limits, after all.

“So?” she said softly, looking up at him. “Don’t play hard to get, it’s just coffee.”

He chuckled at that and threw the cigarette butt away, making a point of it landing right in front of the entrance to the pub. Romy wondered then just how hard the nostalgia and regret must have hit him.

“Thank you for showing me this place,” she said. “And, uh, Ike showed me the pictures. The before pictures. It looked… well, like you. It looked like your kind of place.” She smiled and hoped it was convincing because it was honestly hard to see him so down like this. She wanted this foul mood, whatever this was, to stop eating at him so much.

Alfie didn’t say anything, he just made that guttural, grumbling noise that could either mean agreement or a complete disinterest. So, Romy decided to have her fun:

“You know what else he said?”

“Hmm…”

“You didn’t get the crown tattoos from a mate or in prison, it was in a studio and Ollie had to hold your hand the entire time!”

He looked at her now with an amused smirk and she could tell that he obviously knew what she tried to do here.

“So y’ asked about me?” he said, voice still low and raspy.

“Yeah, apparently your uncle is scary and sounds like the guy from  _ Kill Bill. _ ” She frowned. “Which kind of makes him a sexy villain, I don’t know…”

Alfie barked out a laugh at that and took his arm away, which… Romy wasn’t proud to admit how it left her feeling, exactly.

“Calm yourself, woman, he’s my fuckin’ uncle,” Alfie said but she could still see him smiling so she counted it as a victory.

“You’re refusing the coffee, maybe the next Solomons man won’t?” She shrugged, acting innocent. 

“Bloody hell, you want to kill me.” Alfie shook his head and pointed towards the crossing behind them. “Come on, I know a place. This used to be my turf, eh? But no more flirtin’ with my uncle, I forbid it.”

“I’ve never even met him!”

“Yeah, and now ya never will.”


	5. Doctor Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my personal favorites is making a comeback! You can read all about the greatness that is Aberama Gold, PhD, MBBS [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426591/chapters/48457985). 
> 
> “This Is Not A Diary” still remains one of my greatest creations — so welcome back, my good doctor! That being said, you don’t have to read it to understand what the hell is going on here, those two stories are not connected in any way, but it just might make it funnier — which as we know is my ultimate goal in all my fics. But like I said — it’s not the same universe. I’m just borrowing a character.

The waiting room at Doctor Gold’s office was completely empty when Romy got there. No surprise there, it was an early morning, but it was still awkward to sit and wait there with just her and the secretary. Well, was  _ secretary  _ even a correct term here? She dared another glance. Perhaps in a Miss Moneypenny kind of way… The guy was young and honestly gorgeous, with broad shoulders and sharp jawline. He paid no attention to her whatsoever, typing away on his laptop and furrowing his brow from time to time.  _ God,  _ he must have been barely twenty, too. Instead of a therapist, she should probably set up an appointment with a mortician.

And then a therapist.

“He’ll see you now, Mrs. Bayko,” the guy said, pulling her out of her thoughts. He pointed towards the office door and smiled brightly.

“You mean… he’s been there the entire time?” She pointed at the door, looking at the young man with utter confusion. It was already past five and she has been pointlessly waiting for nothing at all.

“Mhm.” He nodded, still smiling.

“Bloody hell.” She got up and shook her head. “Oh, and it’s  _ Miss.  _ Actually.”

“Apologies. I’ll be sure to correct your file.” The guy seemed genuinely amused now and she made a note to never look him in the eye again.

She knocked politely but no reply came and so she just entered, still having half a mind to turn around and run. 

“Good morning!” Doctor Gold said cheerfully, as if they were meeting for tea and not therapy.

“Good morning…” Romy said, then closed the door behind her.

“You’re Romualda?”

“Romy,” she said quickly, still looking away from him and not really ready to sit down yet. There was still time to flee the scene.

She took a look around, avoiding eye contact. The office was beautiful and spacious, very art deco, with lots of plants, sunlight, and Great Gatsby-inspired wall panellings. The artist in her purred contentedly.

“Romy! Beautiful. Like the actress?”

Romy frowned at that and wondered if perhaps the Shelby family and their friends shared some sort of a hivemind. People very rarely compared her name to Romy Schneider herself, which… The comparison wasn’t entirely unwelcome. She did like old movies.

“Yes. Like the actress.”

“You know… I don’t get many actress names in my office anymore. I used to have a Marilyn, I think? I know one Audrey, too, but she’s not a patient, she’s my neighbor’s dog. A lovely pomeranian, she is.”

Romy smiled at that and sat down on the sofa that faced the door. He seemed perfectly nice, if a little peculiar, but nothing that Ada hadn’t mentioned to her already. Doctor Gold stood up from behind his desk then and moved to the armchair in front of it, notepad and an old-fashioned fountain pen in hand.

“That’s a beautiful pen,” Romy pointed to it and he smiled.

“Thank you. It was a gift, actually.”

“From a woman.”

“Why do you think so?” 

Romy noticed a change in his face now. It was less relaxed, back to curious, and there was something else, too. Was it… fear? No.  _ Concern. _

“It has your surname and medical title engraved.” Romy shrugged. “Just seemed like a gift from a woman, is all. I’m sorry, I was just making conversation, I…” She frowned, unable to finish that thought. 

He waited but since she said nothing more, he concluded:

“Indeed, you are right.” He unscrewed the pen’s cap and wrote something down. “It’s actually my favorite pen. And it was a gift from a woman. And you,” he finished writing and smirked, “are very observant.”

Romy sat back a little into the sofa. It was a soft, uncomfortable type that made you sink right into it. 

“Are you comfortable?” the doctor asked. 

“Not really… I think my legs are too short for this couch.” She laughed nervously and pushed herself towards the very edge. 

“You could lie down, if you want?”

“Do people really do that?”

Doctor Gold shrugged, still smiling in that mysterious way of his. 

“Well…” She leaned back again and lay down but didn’t really want to take her boots off so she swung her legs over the armrest. 

“Comfortable?”

“Hm.” She frowned but had to admit, she really was. 

She closed her eyes for a second and decided this was actually pretty nice. That is, until Doctor Gold said:

“So tell me, what brings you here?”

She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Right. Therapy required participation...

“Ada didn’t tell you?” She looked at him, a bit confused.

“No details. You’re the patient, Romy.” His smile widened and Romy nodded at that, if a bit awkwardly. He had a nice smile; warm. Didn’t quite make her feel safe like Alfie’s or Ada’s did but…

_ Ah, shit. _

“Is it weird that Alfie’s my roommate?”

“Why would it be weird?” 

The question was genuine, Romy noticed. She wasn’t used to people listening to her so intently, except… well, Alfie.

_ Double shit. _

_ Why was he even on her mind right now? _

“Because he’s a former patient.” She frowned, then looked straight ahead at the ceiling. 

“I don’t discuss patient sessions with anyone.”

“I didn’t mean to pry, I—”

“That…” Doctor Gold hesitated and wrote something down again. “It wasn’t meant like that. I was actually confirming your private thoughts will stay private, Romy.”

She pressed her lips together and covered her eyes with her forearm.

“You carry a lot of anxiety.”

She nodded instead of an answer. 

“Are you on any medication?”

“No.” She took her hand away and looked back at him. He seemed a bit concerned now, but he was still smiling and seemed genuinely interested. It actually started to make her feel a bit better. 

“Would you like to be?”

“Not really... I used to take mood stabilizers but the side effects were too much.” She looked back at the ceiling, but then she turned to Doctor Gold again.

“You don’t have to look at me,” he said. “I will let you know if I’m feeling ignored.”

She frowned again, unconvinced. 

“That was a joke.”

“Ah…”

She lay back then so as not to strain her neck. 

“I have to confess, I was told one thing I wanted to ask you about,” Doctor Gold said, after Romy fell silent again.

“What’s that?” she asked flatly, anxious that it would be something serious or accusatory.

“I hear you’re an artist.”

She smiled at that and nodded, actually relieved. “Yes. You can say that.”

“Do you draw or paint?”

“Neither, I mean… I used to do a lot of watercolors but now I mostly do digital art on my iPad.”

“Photoshop?”

That question made her smile again. Doctor Gold definitely wasn’t what she expected.

“Procreate, actually.”

“Ah…” he said and to be perfectly honest, she had no idea if he knew what she was talking about or not. 

“But, I… I haven’t drawn anything good in months.”

“I see. But have you drawn anything bad?”

She smiled at the wording and shook her head. “I just open the program and stare at it. All creativity or inspiration just…” She snapped her fingers and sighed. “It’s so fucking frustrating, you know?”

From the corner of her eye she saw him move and assumed it was a nod. She decided then that this was, after all, her moment to let out all of her pain and frustration at someone and there was no reason for wasting the hour she had already paid for. This is why she was here in the first place.

“I’m just so… sad. All the time. Just sad. It happened before and now it’s back but… I don’t know if it really went away the first time or if it was just subdued by medication, but all I am is sad. So this is why I’m here.” She closed her eyes again. “Sometimes I have bad days, sometimes worse days, but none of the days are good anymore. And I don’t laugh anymore, not really, not at anything. I see something funny and maybe I’ll smile, at best. The only thing I can do is cry and the worst part is that sometimes I cry even without a reason for it, I just…” She let out a breath she didn’t even feel she was holding and turned to look at Doctor Gold, just to see if her words had any impact at all. 

He was taking notes. Suddenly, she wondered what his handwriting looked like.

“Do you feel like crying now?” he asked, eyes back at her. She turned her head to look up again.

“No. But it happens mostly when I feel lonely or I remember something embarrassing or my childhood or if I drink too much…”

“And do you do that often? Drink too much?”

“Not anymore, no. And me and Ada have a pact now, there is no alcohol in the apartment, we…” She stopped herself for a second. She couldn’t tell him about the Alfie incident. That was not her business to tell. “You know. There is no drinking in the apartment.”

The doctor nodded at that was that, apparently. “What about outside of it?”

“I’m not an addict. I could have been, but I… I drink the normal amount now.”

“Any history of addiction in the family?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. 

“Parents?”

“My twin.”

“Is she an alcoholic?”

“He. Heroin. But he’s dead now.”

“I’m very sorry.”

She was, too.

“I was the one who found him.” Her voice cracked and to her utter surprise, she very much felt like crying now. She usually kept her cool with strangers, although this wasn’t exactly a completely neutral setting, so she decided to forgive herself.

Romy cleared her throat and opened her eyes again. “Overdose. A couple of years ago. That’s why I started my first therapy, but it didn’t help me with my issues, not really, I mean… Alright, the lady meant well. And I did get over my relationship with Miles and my mother and… well, mostly. I got over it mostly. But it did nothing for my anxiety or this…” She turned towards him again. “Is it depression, do you think?”

Doctor Gold wrote something down. She liked the sound of the pen scratching against the notepad.

“I wouldn’t say it isn’t,” he said finally, “but I won’t say it is, not just after our first fifteen minutes.” He smiled at her again and she relaxed a bit more. “Tell me…”

“What is my relationship like with my mother?” She smiled to herself. That made the doctor chuckle.

“Never had a clairvoyant for a patient before.”

“That implies you know any at all.”

“One.”

“Who?” She looked at him, now very curious.

The doctor pressed his lips together, obviously toying with the information in his head. Romy realized he wouldn’t tell. 

“Well, my mother, she’s… taking care of my dog now. I miss him so much. You know, Alfie actually took me to see him a couple of weeks ago. He’s such a kind guy.” 

She realized she was avoiding the subject.

“Why isn’t the dog with you?”

“Ah, it’s… the people I lived with before, they made me get rid of him. He’s a pitbull, you know. There’s a lot of prejudice against the breed.”

“But you don’t live there anymore?”

“No, I don’t. I live with Alfie and Ada in Ada’s aunt’s apartment near Brixton.”

Doctor Gold hummed to himself.

“You know,” he said, after Romy fell silent again. “I’ve always felt like animals are beneficial for our mental health.”

She realized immediately what he was suggesting and shook her head.

“I’m scared to ask.”

“Why?”

“She might get angry.”

“Polly?”

“Yes.”

“For asking permission?”

Romy shrugged, only now hearing how backwards her thinking was. 

“Has that ever happened?”

“I’ve never… actually, I haven’t met Polly in person.”

“I meant, people getting angry at you for asking.”

She closed her eyes again, a bit resigned. “My mother. She would act all disappointed if she didn’t like the particular idea, then I’d get the silent treatment until I apologized.”

Silence fell between them again and Romy sat up, suddenly feeling entirely too exposed.

“That sounds awful.”

She nodded and closed her eyes again, willing herself to stay calm. Romy realized now that perhaps one single thing she was scared of was judgement and this was why she had avoided therapy sessions for so long. Doctor Gold wasn’t judgemental at all, though, he was actually the opposite. Hearing someone say that the situation her mother had created for her was awful, that… meant a lot. Usually people made excuses for her mother; praised her genius and academic accomplishments, completely ignoring the fact that being a brilliant scholar does not make one a brilliant parent.

“I know Polly Gray and I assure you, she is not that kind of person.” The doctor looked at her intently. “Come to think of it, I don’t know anyone who would routinely do that, and to a child.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, feeling the tears coming.

“It must have made you feel guilty.”

Romy just nodded, trying to blink the tears away.

“Have you ever tried drawing that?”

“What?”

“Yourself as a child.”

“Why would I do that?” She looked at him, a bit frustrated and confused now. She moved around on the couch to face him.

Doctor Gold tapped his pen against the notepad, visibly thinking about something. 

“Let me give you something…” He stood up and went towards his desk. He opened a drawer and tried to get through the controlled mess inside it.

“Please, not a diary…” she said quietly.

He hummed, smirking to himself. “I see my methods have become famous. Aha!” From the drawer, Doctor Gold produced a thick black book that looked suspiciously like a diary. 

“Here.” He handed it to Romy, then sat back down in his armchair, looking very pleased with himself.

“What is it?” She opened it and frowned, seeing blank pages. There weren’t even any lines on them. The entire thing was just a blank canvas. The paper felt nice, though — it was thick and textured. It immediately made her think what kind of patterns it could create for watercolors.

“It’s yours. I want you to leave the digital for a minute. Paint a watercolor. Or sketch.”

“For you?”

“I want this one to be for you.”

“So… me as a child?”

“Anything you want.”

“Can it be my dog?” As she asked this, Romy actually felt herself getting excited at the idea.

“Absolutely. Now… I would like to see you again next week. Would Thursday morning work for you?”

That gave her a little pause. For some reason, having shared all that made her feel lighter; lighter than she had been in months. She decided to use that feeling while it lasted.

“You know what...” She took out her phone and looked at her calendar app. “There is one subject we haven’t discussed and it’s my shitty job.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they’re treating me like garbage. Now they’re playing that mental game where they don’t prolong my contract until it’s past due, just to fuck with me…” She frowned, browsing through her agenda. “And suddenly I’m feeling very inspired to use all my holiday days until January, you know?”

That earned her a very mischievous smirk from the doctor.

“I am very happy to hear that. In this case, until we meet again, Romy.” They shook hands. “Now, Bonnie at the reception desk has my calendar. He’ll sort the schedule out for us.”


End file.
